More color surged into her face, but she did not stir.
"I was pretty ambitious then," he went on musingly. "My wife was ambitious, too. That was before we were engaged, you understand. We got kind of carried away by people and money and honors—that kind of thing, you know. Well, that little note, Bina. There wasn't anything particular in it, except at the end you said, 'I sha'n't ever forget to hope you will be good.' It was queer, but it made me feel kind of responsible to you. I thought of you down here in your garden, and—well, I don't know, Bina. I showed that note to my wife, and she said, 'Bina must be a dear.'"
Sabrina's eyes questioned him.
"Yes," he said frankly. "She's a dear, too—only different. It's been all right, Bina."
"Ain't that good!" she whispered happily. "I'm glad."
He had pulled out his watch, and at that moment Richmond's voice sounded clearer, as the two out there in the garden came to summon him.
"By George!" said Greenleaf Gilman, "I've got to go."
He rose, and took her hand. He stood there for a moment, holding it, and they looked at each other in a faithful trust.
"You take some southernwood," counseled Sabrina, and he laid her hand gently down, to select his posy.
"I wish your wife could have some," Sabrina went on, in a wistful eagerness, "I don't seem to have a thing to send her."