Then, quite without warning, there showed beyond the
pines a long, white-plumed row of small trees of a sort unmistakable--in
May. Beside the row lay a garden, gay with all manner of spring flowers,
and farther, through the trees, began to gleam the long, low outlines of
a great house.
"Stop just here, Aleck, for a minute," Burns requested, and the car came
to a standstill. Burns looked at Jordan King.
"Ever see that row of white lilacs before, Jord?" he asked with
interest.
King was staring at it, a strange expression of mingled perplexity and
astonishment upon his fine, dark face. After a minute he turned to
Burns.
"What--when--where--" he stammered, and stopped, gazing again at the
lilac hedge and the box-bordered beds with their splashes of bright
colour.
"Well, I don't know what, when, or where, if you don't," Burns returned.
But evidently King did know, or it came to him at that instant, for he
set his lips in a certain peculiar way which his friend understood meant
an attempt at quick disguise of strong feeling. He gave his mother one
glance and sat back in his seat. Then he looked again at Burns. "What is
this, anyway?" he asked rather sternly. "The home of your patient, or a
show place you've stopped to let us look at?"
"My patient's in the house up there. Drive on, Aleck, please. They'll be
expecting us at the back of the house, where the long porches are, and
where they're probably having afternoon tea at this minute.
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