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Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. White’s compliments. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. 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. Luckily, Mrs.
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