"I divined as much. I have suffered!"
"My one pleasure has been the offering I have placed upon your doorstep each evening," he sighed.
"So the flowers were from you, then?" she said, gazing at the bouquet so significantly laid now at her feet.
"I trusted your woman's intuition to know that," he answered, with a shade of offended dignity.
"I suspected, of course, but how could I know? You never confessed."
"Who else in this shameless town would have the sense, the feeling, to approach a lady with flowers—they give 'em the ballot instead!"
"Don't speak of it!" she implored, lifting her hand tragically as if to ward off a blow.
"But I must speak of it, Lula," he exclaimed, seizing the despairing hand. "As much as I hate to mention a matter so indelicate, I must, because it concerns us." They looked at each other like two old doves.
"How should it matter to us?" she asked sadly.