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. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken. “That he should be in the same world with me!” said Ann Veronica, reduced to reading the list of good things the British Tea-Table Company had priced for its patrons. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. It's all very well to read him a lesson, and teach him obedience; but you've gone far enough for that.
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