Burn your palette and your easel. ” He scarcely saw her face again. You haven’t an idea what the sort of employment you could get there would be like, the sort of people you would be mixed up with. 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. They feasted every day and ate all sorts of fresh foods grown in the expansive gardens teeming with vegetables and fruits. “If only Sir John were not Sir John I would ask you to come and have some supper.
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