"Thank you, madam, but I want no girl. It is my wish to do without one, if I can at all."
"You have some relative who will live with you, then? No! Surely you will not live quite alone."
"Madam, I must be alone," he said sadly. "A servant would make no difference."
Then he seemed to repent having said so much, and May could get no more out of him. He was civil enough, but only answered, "Yes, madam," or, "No, madam," except that he admitted that he was fond of reading, and they promised to lend him books.
Then May took out the last of her twelve nosegays.
"Do you care for flowers, Mr. Trulock?"
"No, madam." Then he saw that she had brought him some, and added, with a mournful smile, "You mean these for me? Thank you, madam, 'twas a kind thought. I will get a glass to put them in. What are they? 'Tis a strange time of the year for flowers."
"They are Christmas roses, Mr. Trulock."
"It seems unnatural for flowers to blossom now," the old man said, as he placed them in water. "Summer and youth and flowers—winter and old age and no flowers at all; that's how things go, madam."
May had risen to say good-bye, she put her small hand into his, and looking up with tears in her eyes, for his voice was very sad, she said,—