“I wish you’d look at this,” she said.  “If it’s cooked too much, it gets tough and—­” She straightened suddenly and stood staring out through a window.

“I’d thank you to look out and see the goings-on in our garden,” she said sharply.  “In broad daylight, too.  I—­”

But I did not hear what else Maggie had to say.  I glanced out, and Martin had raised the girl’s face to his and was kissing her, gently and very tenderly.

And then—­and again, as with fear, it is hard to put into words—­I felt come over me such a wave of contentment and happiness as made me close my eyes with the sheer relief and joy of it.  All was well.  The past was past, and out of its mistakes had come a beautiful thing.  And, like the fear, this joy was not mine.  It came to me.  I picked it up—­a thought without words.

Sometimes I think about it, and I wonder—­did little Miss Emily know?