oked disconcerted, like a man accused of something.
Inquiringly he looked at the flowers, first at the ones which belonged
to her, then at the thousands just like them all around.

"But so did _you_ see a great many of them." This was his defense.

"Oh, yes---- Well--but what I meant"--the fact being that she did not
know what she meant any more than he knew what he meant--"was---- Of
course _you_ would n't pick them for a bouquet, though, would you?"

Instantly she felt that matters had been made worse. It was like
offering final proof that he had not admired her flowers, really; and
what was his defense?

"Oh, no--I suppose I would n't. That is, not for myself."

It was the first step of his approach!

"Some people do not care for flowers so much as others do," she
answered hurriedly. "I have even heard of persons to whom the perfume
was offensive; especially in damp, warm weather. Odors are always
strongest in damp weather, you know."

It was a relief to feel that she had been able to lead away from it.

This put them on the weather again; then ensued a conversation
perfectly inconsequential, and yet remarkable, to Janet at least, for
the amount of guidance it needed. She felt, as if her fate depended on
it, that there must be nothing of intimacy, not even suggestion. So
much might come from the drift of the conversation. She kept it as
inconsequential as she could--a sort of chat hardly worth setting down
except great art had been shown in it. Had Janet been a more
experienced woman, and one with the firm sure touch of the
conversational pilot, there might be some interest in charting out her
secret course, showing all the quick invisible moves that were made,
and how she steered through swift hidden dangers and grazed imminent
perils unscathed, chatting inconsequentially all the while. But Janet
was not that. She was little more than a girl.

She did the best she could. Meanwhile the flowers flaunted their
colors in the firelight, seeming now a danger signal to remind her of
her bungling start. The flowers! She wished she had not plucked them
or put them there. Those preferred posies, standing there apart from
the crowd just like them, looked perfectly foolish. She did not
understand what she had done it for. The moment she had made that
remark she saw the only reason why he admired them: it was simply
because they were _hers_. And she had almost pushed the matter to this
admission, so