It is my garden.

Sometimes in the winter, and when the east wind blows up the river, I have it all to myself." "A quiet life, Iris," he said, "and a happy life." "Yes; a happy life." "Iris, will you change it for a life which will not be so quiet ?" He took her hand, but she made no reply.

"I must tell you, Iris, because I cannot keep it from you any longer.

I love you--oh, my dear, I cannot tell you how I love you." "Oh, Arnold!" she whispered.

It had come, the thing she feared to hear! "May I go on?
I have told you now the most important thing, and the rest matters little.