"No," answered Conrad; "but to be frank with you, it was nothing less than the thought of her that lured me back to-day. Let me admit that I wasn't quite ingenuous when I spoke of—of 'being' in the neighbourhood; I came deliberately, in fulfilment of a cherished plan. To me your garden is a tomb—if I may say so without depressing you—it is the tomb of the Used-to-be. We were both children, but there are some things that one never forgets:—
"'I'm not a chicken; I have seen
Full many a chill September,
And though I was a youngster then,
That girl I well remember.'
Holmes wrote 'gale,' not 'girl,' otherwise he might have been speaking for me."
"Such constancy is very beautiful," breathed the lady; "I thought—" She paused, slightly pink.
"But it was unfair," he assured her; "men can be quite as constant as women—especially to the women they never won."
"Er—perhaps you would like to see the house?" she inquired; "and you will allow me to offer you some tea before you go?"
"I accept both offers gratefully," said Conrad.
He followed her into the hall, and she conducted him, with little prefatory murmurs, to such of the apartments as a maiden lady might modestly display. Repapered and rearranged they looked quite strange to him, but the knowledge that he was in Mowbray Lodge averted boredom.
"You find them altered," she said, as they went back to the drawing-room.
"Improved," said he.