"And the flowers," he repeated gravely.
("That clears the banker," thought T. B.)
"I shall leave for Spain to-morrow. It was good of you to let me have this talk."
"It was good of you to come."
"Somehow," she said drearily, "I cannot help feeling that it is for the best."
Again T. B. thought he detected a note of insincerity.
"When will you see him?"
"Carleby?" he asked.
"To-morrow?"
"Not to-morrow."