“Four,” Anna decided firmly. 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. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. “Well?” “You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. "How!" exclaimed Sheppard.
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