He lingered with them as if he wanted to see that vision again, but only the caretaker appeared, and promised to take the flowers upstairs.
Maura afterwards told how they were enjoyed, and they knew of Kalliope’s calm restfulness in Holy Week thoughts and Paschal Joys.
It was on Easter Tuesday that Mr. White first sent a message asking to see his guest, now of nearly three weeks.
He came in very quietly and gently—perhaps the sight of the room he had prepared for his young wife was in itself a shock to him, and he had lived so long without womankind that he had all a lonely man’s awe of an invalid. He took with a certain respect the hand that Kalliope held out, as she said, with a faint flush in her cheeks—
‘I am glad to thank you, sir. You have been very good to me.’
‘I am glad to see you better,’ he said, with a little embarrassment.
‘I ought to be, in this beautiful air, and with these lovely things to look at,’ and she pointed to the reigning photograph on the stand—the facade of St. Mark’s.
‘You should see it as I did.’ And he began to describe it to her, she putting in a question or two here and there, which showed her appreciation.
‘You know something about it already,’ he said.
‘Yes; when I was quite a little girl one of the officers in the Royal Wardours brought some photographs to Malta, and told me about them.’