” “Possibly—bit by bit. "Well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied Wood; "and, by way of changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong waters for consolation, Joan. 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 instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer.
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