At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. He roused curiosities. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion. ” He said. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream.
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