Mr. 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. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on. Go away now, there’s a good lad. She flew up from her stool and faced the door. It was so arranged that Ruth went on duty after breakfast and remained until noon. She was very pale, but she reminded him more at that minute than at any time of “Alcide” as he had first known her. Perhaps the doctor, the manager and the girl were in collusion: perhaps they had heard indirectly of the visit paid by Mr.
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