s umbrella his
spirits dropped beneath it and his brisk, springy walk sagged to
something resembling the gait of a middle-aged gentleman. But he urged
himself into a better mood, however, at the sight of a flower-shop
whose delicate wares huddled appealingly close to the window. He went
in and purchased an enormous bunch of--he hesitated--there were certain
flowers he _could_ not, would _not_ send! The selection his
sentimental reserve imposed therefore consisted of sweet-peas,
_girofles_, and a big cluster of white roses, all very girlish and
virginal. His bridal offering in his hand, he took a cab and drove to
the other side of the river with lead at his good heart and, he almost
fancied, a lump in his throat. He paid the coachman, whose careless
spirits he envied, and slowly walked down the picturesque alley of
Impasse du Maine.

"There isn't a man I know--not a man in the Somerset Club--who would be
as big a fool as this!"

He had more than a mind to leave the flowers on the doorstep and run.
Bulstrode would have done so now that he was face to face with his
quixotic folly, but his cab had been heard as well as his steps on the
walk, and the door was opened by Miss Desprey herself. The girl's
colorless face, her eyes spoiled with tears, and a pretty, sad dignity,
which became her well, struck her friend with the sincerity and depth
of her grief, and as the good gentleman shook hands with her he
realized that less than ever in the world could he add a featherweight
of grief to the burden of this helpless creature.

"My dearest child!" He lifted her hand to his lips.

"Oh, Mr. Bulstrode, I'm so glad you've come, I was so afraid you
wouldn't--after yesterday!"

His arms were still full of white paper, roses, and sweet-peas.

"Oh, don't give them to me, Mr. Bulstrode! Oh, why, did you bring
them? Oh, dear, what will you think of me?" She had possessed herself
of the flowers and with agitation and distress hastily thrust them, as
if she wanted to hide them, behind the draperies of the couch.
Bulstrode murmured something of whose import he was scarcely conscious.
As she came tearfully back to him she let him take her hands. He felt
that she clung to him. "It would have spoiled my life if you hadn't
come. I would have just gone and jumped in the Seine. I may yet. Oh,
you don't understand! It's been hard to be poor--I've been often
hungry--but this last thing was too much. When you found me yesterday