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. “In that laboratory one gets to disregard these passions,” began Capes. “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. Here I am. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. All concerned in the dark transaction must have perished.
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