In a walled garden, the speaker meets a small, old-fashioned ghost: a woman in a ruffled white gown, a broad white hat, and lace mitts. She seems sweet, self-possessed, and entirely at ease. The speaker watches her with quiet fascination—noticing how she bends approvingly over mint, smiles without sadness, and walks up the path with the proud, careful grace of a great lady. There is something intimate about the visit, as if the ghost enjoys the garden and the speaker enjoys being seen.
Only after the ghost disappears through a bare stretch of the ivy-covered wall—where a gate once stood—does the speaker remember that the garden was locked and the wall was high. That late realization turns a gentle, almost social encounter into something quietly uncanny. The mood is tender and haunting rather than frightening. The speaker seems charmed and a little lonely, left with wonder and loss after briefly sharing the garden with someone from the past.