’ ‘A pretty tale. ” She had had so much time to learn the violin that she often thought to herself that she ought to be much more skilled at it. 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. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. No further responsibility whatever.
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