Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. 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. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. For a few minutes he kept them at bay. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. ‘You didn’t understand it any better than I. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. CHAPTER XXIV. ” Annabel laughed gaily.
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