“But I am your husband,” he said. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth.
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