’ She tossed her head. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. He would pull this young fellow back; but later he knew that he would have to fight the boy's lack of will to live. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. Spurling, drily. "He would return my letters unopened or destroy them. .
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