” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. 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. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter.
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