Of course the place must be sold: it can't be rented, and I'm sure you will never get me to spend another summer in Clayton.

You could not stay here alone." Ruth sat with her chin in her hands and gazed absently out of the window.

She remembered when that yard was to her as the garden of Eden.

As a child she had been brought here, a delicate, faded little hot-house plant, and for three wonderful years had been allowed to grow and blossom at will in the freedom of outdoor life.

The glamour of those old days still clung to the place, and made her love everything connected with it.