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. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. I can see the whole thing was just a set-up for sequels, though. ‘I am glad it is you, because you can help me. "Stop thief!" roared Jonathan.
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