and sat down
by it, removed the flowers from her bosom to the table, took up the
volume of "The School for Scandal," and turned the leaves over as if
in quest of a certain page.

While she was looking at the book, Peyton took up the flowers.
Elizabeth, as if thinking they were still where she had laid them, put
out her hand to repossess them, keeping her eyes the while on the
book. For a moment, her hand ranged the table in search, then she
abandoned the attempt to regain them.

Peyton held them out to her.

"No, I thank you," she said, laying down the book, and went back to
the spinet.

"Ah, you give them to me!" cried Peyton, with sudden pleasure.

"Not at all! I merely do not wish to have them now."

"Oh," said he, thinking to make account by finding offence where none
was really expressed, "has my touch contaminated them for you?"

"How can you talk so absurdly?" And she resumed her seat at the
spinet, and her playing.

Peyton stood holding the flowers, looking at her, and presently
heaved a deep sigh. This not moving her, he suddenly had an access of
pride, brought himself together, and saying, with quick resolution, "I
bid you good-night and good-by, madam," went rapidly towards the door
of the east hall. But his resolution weakened when his hand touched
the knob, and, to make pretext for further sight of her, he turned and
went to go out the other door.

Elizabeth had had a moment of alarm at his first sign of departure,
but had not betrayed the feeling. Now when, from her seat at the
spinet, she saw him actually crossing the threshold near her, she
called out, gently, "A moment, captain."

The pleased look on his face, as he turned towards her inquiringly,
betrayed his gratification at being called back.

"You are taking my flowers away," she said, in explanation.

He plainly showed his disappointment. "Your pardon. My thoughtlessness.
But you said you didn't wish to keep them." He laid them on the spinet.

"I do not,--yet a woman must allow very few hands to carry off flowers
of her gathering."

She rose and took up the flowers and walked towards the fireplace.

"Then you at least take them back from my hands," said Peyton.

"Why, yes,--for this," and she tossed them into the fire.

He looked at them as they withered in the blaze, then said, "Have you
any objection to my carrying away the ashes, Miss Philipse?"

She answered, considerately, "'Twill take you more time than you can
lose, to