Tita draws it forth reluctantly. It is tied to a little plant—a tiny plant of pale forget-me-not.
"What can he have to write about?" says she. "Perhaps it is to say he is not coming to-day; let us hope so. But what does this plant mean?"
She opens the envelope with disdainful fingers. It does not, however, contain a letter, after all. It is only a verse scribbled on a card:
"If you will touch, and take, and pardon,
What I can give;
Take this, a flower, into your garden,
And bid it live."
Neither of them speaks for a moment.
"It is a pretty message," says Margaret at last.
"Yes."
Tita's face is turned aside. Her hand is still resting on the table, the verse and the little plant within it.
"He will be coming soon," says Margaret again.
"Yes, I know."