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. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, these two must epitomise it. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. I’m sorry. ” He looked at her intensely, his dark eyes deepened with sleeplessness. ‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. ’ ‘He did, you know,’ grinned Gerald.
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