CHAPTER FOUR
“Home at Evening’s Close, to Sweet Repast and Calm Repose”
Mark Walpole came up the walk at a rapid gait, swinging one arm and breathing through his puckered lips as though he were whistling, though the tune of it was in his mind only; no sound came forth. Mary met him at the door with her pretty air of self-forgetfulness and absorption in others, the manner that was all Mary’s, as if she were an anxiously motherly old lady and, at the same time, a childishly innocent young girl.
“You were gone a long time; was it a nice visit?” she asked.
“Great!” cried Mark, in a tone that left no doubt of his sincerity. “Such a collection as Mr. Moulton has made! I never saw plants pressed and preserved like his. He says he has discovered a trifling secret, but a big one, that makes hi
