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. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. "See how glad he is!" His irony and displeasure subsided. Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. His face will be all I need. ‘If the boy had sense enough to send word to Gerald as he was told to do, then God be praised!’ ‘Parbleu,’ broke from Melusine, as she turned on him instead. You understand what I mean. ” He recovered himself.
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