She was suddenly grave. The bolder members in the House left their places to go lobbyward, grinning. She found presently she was out of the dock and confronted with the alternative of being bound over in one surety for the sum of forty pounds— whatever that might mean or a month’s imprisonment. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her. 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. ’ ‘But—’ ‘You’ll get her all over blood again. “I was glad you did not send it back again,” he said.
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