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. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. “Only—I have come face to face—with something terrible, and wholly unexpected trouble. "What I do is for the best, and I can only hope she may have strength to bear the separation.
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