With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party. Upon which Mrs. In the present case it did not matter, as there was no one else within earshot. 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. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed.
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