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. They fell in a diapason of smashes. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman. ” “Not now. ” He looked at her with white, set face. Kneebone was attired in the extremity of the mode. Anna felt that her words had become charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any which she had intended to impart. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. ’ She giggled suddenly. ‘Parbleu,’ said Gerald.
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