I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. "Bess wouldn't bear a rival. 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. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. For a time I didn't know we'd ever find you. He did his best not to grin. " The stranger was for a moment lost in reflection.
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