‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. Mr. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. 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 so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. ‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly. He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. "We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising.
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