He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. As to the picture, I'll keep it myself, though, if you do go I shall need no memorial of you. She had never thought of him at all in that way before. He carries with him something that will mark him anywhere—the girl. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle.
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