"What has delayed you?" demanded the knight impatiently. F. "I can't say I do," replied Wood. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. 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. Rich folks, once. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. Sebastian physically restrained her as she hit and scratched at him, trying to touch her mother who went swiftly into her death throes. "Another time," replied the thief-taker, evasively.
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