"It all seems one big tangle! One wants what one can't have,—and one doesn't take what one might have."
He waited for more; and she slowly pulled a late rose to pieces, making a little pile of the debris.
"Isn't that cruel? I've spoilt the rose's life. It might have lasted three days longer. What a number of spoilt lives there are in the world! I wonder if somebody is always to blame. Poor little rose. Dick and I one day counted the petals of a fine huge one, daddy, and we found—taking them all, big and little—hundreds. Would you have expected it?"
"No." He was thinking of her involuntary mention of Maurice; not of the rose-petals.
"It surprised us both. But about difficulties—I meant—in more ways than one. I used to fight so for liberty; just to have my own way. And I think Dick helped me to see that that isn't always the best thing." She was back in thought on the Glückhorn, listening to him.
The Rector made a slight sound of assent.
"I don't talk about him to other people, you know. I may sometimes to you—mayn't I?" Then she lifted her head higher. "Mrs. Stirling wants me to spend to-morrow at Deene."
Mr. Winton found speech.
"Are you sure of yourself, Doris?"
Her hand shook, and her cheek paled.