She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. . “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. Or shall I ask Colonel Anson for a few hints?” “For Heaven’s sake no,” she declared. . She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings.
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