indow opened wide to the garden beyond. It was only a mite of a
garden, not big enough for even a tennis-court, but so much love and
ingenuity had been lavished on its arrangement that it had an
astonishing air of space. The flower-covered trellis at the end had an
air of being there because it chose, and not in the least because it
marked an arbitrary division of land. The one big tree made an oasis of
shade, and had a low circular seat round its trunk, and the flowers
bloomed in grateful recognition of favours bestowed.

There are points in which the small garden has a pull over the large.
Its owner can, for instance, remember just how many blooms a special
plant afforded last summer, and feel a glow of pride in the extra two of
the present season; she can water them herself, tie up their drooping
heads, snip off the dead flowers, know them, and love them in an
intimate, personal way which is impossible in the large,
professionally-run gardens. Bridgie's garden this summer afternoon made
a very charming background for the figure of Pixie in her white dress,
with the jaunty blue band round her waist, and a little knot to match
fastening her muslin Peter Pan collar. She looked very young and fresh
and dainty, and the wistful expression deepened on Stephen's face as he
looked at her.

For the first few minutes conversation was difficult, for the
consciousness of being alone seemed rather to close the way to personal
subjects than to open it. Stephen was grave and distrait, Pixie
embarrassed and nervous, but the real deep sympathy between them made it
impossible that such an atmosphere should continue. Before ten minutes
had passed Pixie's laugh had sounded with the characteristic gurgle
which was the very embodiment of merriment, and Stephen was perforce
laughing in response. He had never been able to resist Pixie's laugh.
Tea was brought in, and the young hostess did the honours with a pretty
hospitality. It was the first meal of which they had partaken _a deux_,
and its homely intimacy brought back the wistful look into Stephen's
eyes. Perhaps Pixie noticed it, perhaps a point had been reached when
she felt it impossible to go on talking generalities; in any case, she
laid down her cup, straightened herself in her chair with an air of
preparing for something big and momentous, and announced clearly--

"I had a letter this morning from Honor Vaughan."

Stephen Glynn started, and his face hardened. The subj