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. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. . It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us.
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