She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. "He is all alone. ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. Then perhaps I shall send for him if he has not forgotten. 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. Even the teachers were getting restless, the seniors gnawing hard at the bit as graduation teased.
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