Thames Darrell III. 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. "And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs. " "No more of this," interrupted Thames, "you make the matter worse by these excuses. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. Here and there, a rectangular patch, darker than the rest, showed that some had been removed. They don’t count, and I don’t care.
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