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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. And yet he knew that his skill was equal to that of any fashionable practitioner in Hong-Kong. Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. “You going to the Michelle’s place for dinner?” Mike asked Lucy after the bear hugs.
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