‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. She sings better perhaps. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. "However, I'll refresh your memory. What’s that?” They both stood listening. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. ” “Clear out?” cried Hetty.
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