“Don’t!” she begged. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. “I feel shabby and disgraced. He laughed suddenly, and released her. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely. ” His walk became a jovial saunter. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. " "It matters not what I think," replied Wild.
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