"What do you mean?"
"For thinking you were displeased. I might have known you had more sense, but I have seen men who would have pouted for a week over a trifle of less consequence."
"Did you think it wrong?"
"Good heavens, no; but I am not a proper judge. I suppose every wife ought to be exceedingly careful; but then, is a woman to be deprived of every bit of sentiment or romance?"
"I don't think Margaret addicted to either. I should be sorry to believe it."
"And I too. But I must take my basket of flowers into the house; don't stand here fighting shadows, Mr. Laurence."
"I am not aware that I have been doing battle with any such unsubstantial thing," he answered.
Miss Chase turned toward the house; he followed, but with a new train of thought awakened in his mind. He began to wonder if he really had been displeased at this trifle; certainly, he was not jealous, but he would permit no impropriety. Had there been any? The simple giving of a flower—she had done nothing more than that; and yet—well, he had not thought much of it at the time, but Miss Chase had in a measure convinced him that he was more impressed than he had believed. If Margaret was going to add coquetry to her numerous other faults, his life would be irksome enough!
He accompanied Sybil into the breakfast-room, helped her arrange the flowers, and in the process they fell into a pleasant conversation. It was a full half-hour before Hinchley or Margaret made their appearance. A great deal can be done in that length of time, especially when economized with as much wisdom as Sybil Chase was capable of employing.