Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. " He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. . . The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about.
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