He will wish to have his fears laid to rest. Listen. 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. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. Diable.
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