So when you came into the arbor, I
couldn't resist trying again. And, now, here we are--with Czar to say it
is all right."
At his fanciful words, she laughed again, and her cheeks flushed with
pleasure. Then, with grave sweetness, she said, "Won't you sit down,
please, and let me explain seriously?"
"I suppose you must pretend to be like the rest of us," he returned with
an air of resignation, "but all the same, Czar and I know you are not."
When they were seated, she said simply, "My name is Sibyl Andres. This
place used to be my home. My mother planted this garden with her own
hands. Many of these roses were brought from our home in the mountains,
where I was born, and where I lived with father and mother until five
years ago. I feel, still, as though the old place in the hills were my
real home, and every summer, when nearly every one goes away from
Fairlands and there is nothing for me to do, Myra Willard and I go up
there, for as long as we can. You see, I teach music and play in the
churches. Miss Willard taught me. She and mother are the only teachers I
have ever had. After father's death, mother and Myra and I lived here for
two years; then mother died, and Myra and I moved to that little house
over there, because we could not afford to keep this place.
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