But after all I'm only human,
and I've seen her grow up from a fresh, charming child into one of God's
wonderful women. Even a gardener, you know, George, loves the roses he
has planted and watched over. I've taught her a little and helped her a
little, and I've watched her cross the borderland."
"Does she know?"
Andrew shook his head doubtfully.
"I think," he said, "that she was beginning to guess. Three months ago I
should have spoken--but my trouble came. I didn't mean to tell you this,
but perhaps it is as well that you should know. You can understand now
what I am suffering. To think of her there alone almost maddens me."
Duncombe rose suddenly from his seat.
"Come out into the garden, Andrew," he said. "I feel stifled here."
His host rose and took Duncombe's arm. They passed out through the
French window on to the gravel path which circled the cedar-shaded lawn.
A shower had fallen barely an hour since, and the air was full of fresh
delicate fragrance. Birds were singing in the dripping trees, blackbirds
were busy in the grass. The perfume from the wet lilac shrubs was a very
dream of sweetness. Andrew pointed across a park which sloped down to
the garden boundary.
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