“Really?” he cried. “Then I must find him out. When you come to think of it now, a letter of introduction is something that shouldn’t be neglected, should it?”
“I never had one,” she replied demurely. Then, catching sight of the neglected basket of roses, “Oh, just see,” she exclaimed remorsefully, “they’re all withering!”
“Not enough to hurt,” he said. “Besides, there are lots more.”
But she shook her head and, with the basket over one arm and scissors and skirts in hand, turned towards the house.
He searched desperately for something to say, anything to keep her there. Finally,--
“They’re looking well, aren’t they, the roses?”
“But--er--perhaps they need rain? Roses require a good bit of moisture, don’t they? I think I’ve read somewhere that--er--that----”
“Good-morning.” She turned away again, smiling deliciously when her back was towards him, and went quickly up the path.
“Good-morning,” he called regretfully. Then:
“Confound it, I did read something about roses and moisture somewhere! Now, what was it? Just like my silly memory to go back on me when most needed! I shall read up on roses; everyone ought to know about flowers.”
He gathered up his papers and writing utensils and went up to his room. There he placed the pink rose in a goblet of water and, in the manner of one performing a sacred rite, pressed his lips to the crushed petals.
“This afternoon,” he said, “I will present my letter to the worthy Colonel.”
But he didn’t, for with the afternoon came a telegram from New York calling him back. For a few moments he railed eloquently at fate: in the end he accepted her command with ill grace: “I am leaving my trunk, Mrs. Phillips,” he explained to his landlady, “in order that I may return and get it later. Meanwhile I shall be glad to retain the rooms. I shall be back in a week or ten days, I fancy.”
During the operation of packing a suit-case he made trips to the window overlooking the rose-garden at frequent intervals, but without reward. The back of the Castle presented a sleepy, undisturbed aspect, and the garden was empty of all life save birds and bees and butterflies. Just before it was time to leave for his train he went down to the iron fence and looked mournfully across.