Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. ‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. Courtlaw might have been able to give me an idea where to stop. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. G.
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