"It's from Maggy. She doesn't say what has been the matter with her, though."
Chalfont looked up.
"Has your friend been ill?" he asked with concern. "I'm sorry to hear that. We must send her some flowers, Ada."
"Yes, we will," Mrs. Lambert concurred.
After breakfast he went out to buy some. When he came back Mrs. Lambert was alone in the room.
"What beauties!" she said, lifting the lid of the box he had brought in with him. "Catherine Mermets."
She hung over the roses, the bitter-sweet of the memories they evoked coming up to her with their delicate fragrance. Chalfont always bought her Catherine Mermets when they were in bloom, great masses of them; but it was Hugh Lambert who had first given her a bunch of three, purchased at a street corner at sixpence each in the days when sixpences were scarce with him.
"I got them because they are your favorites," he said. "I thought she would be sure to like what you like. Anyway, what's good enough for you is good enough for anybody."
She put her arm over his shoulder and kissed him.
"You're always so thoughtful, and so loyal," she said. "I'm getting old and you remain steadfast. It seems such an irony of fate that I can't love you as you deserve. Although Hugh has no claim on my feelings or my memory, I can't forget him. I give you so little, Leonard. One day, perhaps, some girl will love you worthily, and make up for my meanness."