She seemed to have the power of drawing him out in a marvellous degree, and she took the greatest interest in his work--a sure way to every author's heart.
But it was not till one day, when we landed at Tresco, that I felt certain she genuinely loved him--there in one glance the truth flashed upon me.

I was walking with one of the gardeners down one of the long shady paths of that lovely little island, with its curiously foreign look, when we suddenly came face to face with Derrick and Freda.

They were talking earnestly, and I could see her great grey eyes as they were lifted to his--perhaps they were more expressive than she knew--I cannot say.

They both started a little as we confronted them, and the colour deepened in Freda's face.

The gardener, with what photographers usually ask for--'just the faint beginning of a smile,'-- turned and gathered a bit of white heather growing near.
"They say it brings good luck, miss," he remarked, handing it to Freda.
"Thank you," she said, laughing, "I hope it will bring it to me.