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. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. He smiled. ” She slipped it on her finger, and added, in a voice she tried to make matter-of-fact: “It was given to me last week. The house was invisible from the road, and yet enormous once within view. ” Annabel shook her head.
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