A heavy step in the road brought me, with a little sense of relief, back to the present. The tall form of Mr. Bruce Deville came in sight. He passed so close to me that I could have touched him.
“Good night, Mr. Deville,” I said, softly, in his ear.
He started almost over to the other side of the road. Then he saw me, and lifted his cap.
“Good God!” he exclaimed. “I beg your pardon, Miss Ffolliot. How you startled me!”
“I am very sorry,” I said, penitently.
He looked at me and laughed. “You may be,” he said; “but you don’t look it. I am glad that you are better.”
“I am quite well, thank you,” I answered. “I am glad to see you, Mr. Deville. I wanted to thank you for those beautiful roses. I could not believe that they came from you.”
He looked a little embarrassed.
“They are not worth mentioning,” he muttered. “Besides, it was Adelaide’s idea. She thought that you would like them.”