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. When you've seized him, cough thrice thus,—and two rough-looking gentlemen will make their appearance. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Leonardo had not taught her to do so. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. We've never caught him cheating at cards; too clever; but we know he cheats.
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