Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. 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. "I knew him at once. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me. The door to the library burst open. “You must come home to him at once,” said Miss Stanley. "No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge.
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