He handed them to her.
"Will you be so kind as to accept them?" he said. "I heard you admire them in the conservatory last night and I brought them for you from the rectory green-house."
"For me?" exclaimed Stella, open-eyed. "Oh, I didn't know! I am so sorry you should have troubled. It was very kind. You must have robbed the poor plants terribly."
"They would be quite consoled if they could know for whom their blossoms were intended," he said, with a low bow.
Stella looked at him with a smile, and glanced half archly at her uncle.
"That was very nice," she said. "Poor flowers! it is a pity they can't know! Can't you tell them? There is a language of flowers, you know!"
Mr. Adelstone smiled. He was not accustomed to have his compliments met with such ready wit, and was nonplussed for a moment, while his eyes dropped from her face with a little shifty look.
Mr. Etheridge broke the rather embarrassing pause.
"Put them in the vase for her, Mr. Adelstone, will you, please, and come and have some breakfast. You can't have had any."
He waited until Stella echoed the invitation, then drew up to the table.