"Good Heavens!" cried Groom. "She has poisoned herself!"
"I have taken drows," gasped Mrs. Gilroy. "That's my dukkerin!" and died hard.
CHAPTER XXIII
A YEAR LATER
It was midsummer, and Miss Berengaria's garden was a sight. Such splendid colors, such magnificent blossoms, such triumphs of the floricultural art, had never been seen outside the walls of a flower show. The weather was exceedingly warm, and on this particular day there was not a cloud in the sky. Miss Plantagenet pottered about her garden, clipping and arranging as usual, and seemed to be in the very best of spirits. And well she might be, for this was a red-letter day with her.
Under the shade of a large elm-tree sat Durham, in the most unprofessional tweed suit, and beside him, Alice, radiant in a white dress. She looked particularly pretty, and her face was a most becoming color. Every now and then she would glance at the watch on her wrist, and Durham laughed as he saw how frequently she referred to it.
"The train won't be here for another hour," he said, smiling. "You will see Bernard soon enough, Miss Malleson."
"Oh, dear me," sighed Alice, "can I ever see him soon enough? It seems like eleven years instead of eleven months since he went away. I wish he hadn't gone."