"The roses are all gone," she said rather sadly.
"Perhaps, higher up, I can reach one—shall I try?"
I marvelled to see that John's manner as he addressed her was just like his manner always with her.
"Thank you—that will do. I wanted to take some away with me—I am leaving Rose Cottage to-day, Mr. Halifax."
"So I have heard."
He did not say "sorry to hear." I wondered did the omission strike her? But no—she evidently regarded us both as mere acquaintances, inevitably, perhaps even tenderly, bound up with this time; and as such, claiming a more than ordinary place in her regard and remembrance. No man with common sense or common feeling could for a moment dare to misinterpret the emotion she showed.
Re-entering the house, she asked us if we would come in with her; she had a few things to say to us. And then she again referred gratefully to our "kindness."
We all went once more—for the last time—into the little parlour. "Yes—I am going away," said she, mournfully.
"We hope all good will go with you—always and everywhere."
"Thank you, Mr. Fletcher."