“And you brought her a man, I presume. "Evidently he could not destroy these children of his. Mrs. Where were you married?” “At the English Embassy in Paris. 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. “I wish. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian.
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