The garden of resurrection

by E. Temple Thurston

"Who?"

"Cruikshank."

"What do you mean?"

"What I say. I believe Cruikshank would have done the same before he married me."

I laughed—bitterly.

"There's no more resemblance between Cruikshank and me," said I, "than between a Chinee and a Red Indian. We're at opposite poles. At the 'varsity he was mathematics, I was classics. There's the difference in a nutshell."

"We won't argue it," she replied. "I know what I mean and that's what I told her. She asked me if you had not done it out of spite."

"What did you say then?"

"I just took her little face in my hands and I kissed her—she is so pretty to kiss."

And then Bellwattle paused.