She seemed always the same when he came; appeared to have no more to do with him than the rest had, and was just the quiet elder sister, playing the hostess with a calmness which hardly befitted her years.
What had altered her from the somewhat shy and blushing girl he had met at Shellford?
He tried in vain to answer this question. One possibility presented itself, but this he would not entertain as the solution for a moment.
He noticed that she quietly avoided any special conversation with himself, and held herself aloof. As however he had made up his mind that she was not to be won by impetuosity, he took this calmly, hoping that in time she would understand his love.
One day, very near to Christmas, being called by business near Covent Garden, he strolled in among the flowers, thinking of Nellie, and wondering if she would accept some.
He determined to try, and buying a lovely bunch of violets, hastened towards her home.
It was about twelve o'clock, and Simmons was busy upstairs. The cook opened the door to him, and without any preparation asked him into the dining-room, merely saying, "I believe they are in here, sir."
Nellie started up from the sofa where she had been sitting.
He entered, and Nellie started up from the sofa where she had been sitting, while a letter dropped on to the floor from her lap, and he found that she had been weeping violently.