I cannot think he will welcome a French émigré for his granddaughter. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. “I never dreamt!” she said. 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. She regarded the young man coldly.
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