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. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. "Good-b'ye!" And with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure. You'll live to hate chicken; and the man in you will rise up and demand strong drink. ‘What do you mean to do with her?’ ‘Just keep her talking, that’s all,’ Gerald said quickly. " "True, and I shan't be easy till my turn arrives. He had quite enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. I am not angry with you, but with this—this—’ ‘Idiot? Imbecile?’ offered Gerald in a helpful tone. ” She looked thoughtfully into the fire. .
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