bright pink
below the glasses--and all she said was "Thank you" and then I saw a
little streak of wet trickle from under the horn rims. I have never had
such a temptation in my life--to stretch out my arms and cry "Darling
one, let me comfort you, here clasped close to me!"--I longed to touch
her--to express somehow that I felt profoundly for her grief.--

"Miss Sharp--" I did burst out--"I am not saying anything because I know
you don't want me to--but it is not because I do not
feel--I'm--I'm--awfully sorry--May not I perhaps send some roses
to--your home--or, perhaps there is someone there who would like
them--flowers are such jolly things!"--Then I felt the awfully ill
chosen word "jolly" was--but I could not alter it.

I believe that _gaucherie_ on my part helped though a little, her fine
senses understood it was because I was so nervously anxious to offer
comfort--a much kinder note came into her voice--.

"I'll take the violets with me if you will let me," she said--"Please
don't trouble about anything more--and do let us begin work."

So we started upon the Chapter.

Her hands were not so red I noticed. I am becoming sensitive to what is
called "atmosphere" I suppose, for I felt all the currents in the room
were disturbed--that ambience of serenity did not surround Alathea and
keep me unconsciously in awe of her as it always has before--I was aware
that my natural emotions were running riot and that my one eye was
gazing at her with love in it, and that my imagination was conjuring up
scenes of delight with her as a companion. Her want of complete control
allowed the waves to reach her, I expect--for I knew that she was using
all her will to keep her attention upon the work, and that she was
nearly as disturbed as I was myself--.

But how was she disturbed?--was she just nervous from events--or was I
causing her any personal trouble? The moment I felt that perhaps I was,
a feeling of assurance and triumph came over me--! Then I used every bit
of the cunning I possess--I tried to say subtle things--I made her talk
about the ridiculous book, and the utterly unimportant furniture--I made
her express her opinion about styles, and got out of her that a simple
Queen Anne was what she herself preferred.--I _knew_ that she was giving
way and talking with less stiffness because she was weak with sorrow,
and probably had not had much sleep--I _knew_ that it was not because
she had forgotten about the Suzette cheque