His voice was one that would have lent itself to eloquence. Now its even modulation carried a sort of cold charm.
"You do not like me," he repeated.
"I don't know," she answered simply. "I hadn't thought about it. I was surprised."
"Naturally." He contemplated her with grave eyes that seemed to admit no play of expression. "I came only to ask an interview later. At any time that may be most agreeable—Pardon me," he interrupted himself with a certain cynical humor in his voice, "at any time, I should say, that may be least disagreeable to you."
"I will tell you later," she said. He bowed himself backward, then turning on his heel went silently down the stairs.
She stood hesitant for a moment, with both hands pressed against the door at her back, and her brow drawn in a deep furrow, then she threw her chin upward and shook her head with that resolute gesture which meant, with her, shaking off at least the outward seeming of annoyance.
Benton came out from his hiding-place behind the palms, and she looked up at him with a momentary clearing of her brow.
"Where were you?" she asked.
"I unintentionally played eavesdropper," he said humbly, handing her the rose. "I was lying in wait to decorate you."
"It is wonderful," she exclaimed. "I think it is the wonderfulest rose that any little girl ever had for a magic gift." She held it for a moment, softly against her cheek.