She ran through her letters. There was a note from Ronnie, an invitation to a first night. He said nothing about her birthday.
"Oh, by the way, some flowers came. I told Dean to put them in your room. I have been puzzling my head to remember when I told him the date of your birthday. I suppose I must have done so, and, of course, he has the most colossal memory."
"Who, father?"
"Sault. He must have got up very early and gone to the market to get them. Very decent of him."
She went out of the room with an excuse and found her maid in the pantry. She had filled a big bowl with the roses. There were so many that only room for half of them had been found.
"The others I will put in the doctor's room, Miss," said the maid.
"Put them all in my room, every one of them," demanded Beryl.
She selected three and fastened them in her belt before she went back to the breakfast room. The doctor laughed.
"I've never seen you wearing flowers before—Sault would be awfully pleased."
This she knew. That was why she wore them.