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. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking about by yourself. Her mouth at half-cock, Melusine stood there staring at him. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. The stranger turned his head at the sound. It was some time later, after a series of these devastating assaults, that Melusine found herself seated on the sofa lately vacated by Lucilla and Captain Roding, cuddled firmly in the arms of a major of militia reduced quite to idiocy. Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it.
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