” He leaned back in his chair as though wearied. 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. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. She fell into another slumber, one which was more like a blackout. Went up to Somerset House to examine the will before he did it. He stood back and held her shoulders. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared.
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