At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. Maggot tenderly. ‘A word, if you please, my friend. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. 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. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. “It’s very late. Just a friendly polite suggestion.
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