“Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. 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. She was furiously angry. “So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again. He found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. "You must have made some exertion to keep your present appointment. She wanted to be alone.
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