Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. “My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden. The perspiration stood out upon his forehead. It was intolerable to think that he might overhear words and phrases. I’ve got a lot of things to think about. Most of all she enjoyed the gentle gratitude of her foster family members, even the teasing 7 of Mike, her foster brother, who liked to play food critic to give her a hard time.
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