er who had communicated the fact, she had been further told
that very likely Brenda too would in time become a Catholic--as if that
made it any better. A descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers to become a
Roman Catholic! Any one but a heathen to change his religion!...

The figure of Abbe Johns rose before her mind. She refrained from
judgment in his case. His case, for intangible reasons, seemed separate
and different. But fear, as of formless bugaboos in the dark, burned in
her heart at the idea of his influence perhaps being able, creepily,
stealthily, to convert Gerald.

She turned her face upward to the sky of May and sent forth a little
prayer into the crystal clearness of the space lying between her and the
ear which she conceived of as receiving it, the ear of a Baptist God, as
opposed to a Roman Catholic God surrounded by saints and candles and
incense and tin flowers.

As she did this a high pink cloud caught her eye. Embers of sunset were
glowing over the river at the other side of the house. The sight of the
pink cloud, so pretty and far away, comforted Aurora like a good omen.
She felt better and, her reverie borrowing a ray from the cloud, went on
to rejoice in the pleasantness of the garden which she might for the
time being call hers. So different from the gardens at home, but in its
set way how attractive it was, how suited to people with leisure, and a
certain stability of taste, and a liking for privacy!

Why, in that garden--which wasn't very large, either--you could almost
get lost among narrow paths bordered with shrubs. Even if the wide
wrought-iron front-gate were open, and the carriage-gate at the side
open as at this moment, you could be just as much shut off from outside
as in your own room, if you took your sewing or your book to that little
open air round with walls of smooth-trimmed laurel, and a stone table in
the middle, and stone seats.

Old Achille down there, still busy watering,--Achille who belonged to
the garden and was hired along with it, was a regular artist, thought
Aurora. The great oval bed in front of the house was at this season like
a huge bouquet, all arranged in a beautiful pattern. Then he had edged
every path with a band of pansies just inside the band of ivy
overrunning the mossy border stones--the sweetest thing. His pride was
pansies, he had planted them everywhere, the finest she had ever seen.
He had taken a prize once at a horticultural show, for his pansies.

Th