John glanced at them, and at the glowing, living, delicious bit of young womanhood which they adorned. He saw the rebellious ripe cherry of a mouth, and the warm, soft tenderness in the grey eyes, and then he quickly looked out of the window—his own blue ones expressionless, but the hand which held the newspaper clenched rather hard.
"Amn't I a pet!" cooed Amaryllis, deliberately subduing the chill of her first disappointment. "Dearest, see I have kept this last and loveliest set of garments for the morning of our home-coming—and for you!" and she crept close to him and laid her cheek against his cheek.
He encircled her with his arm and kissed her calmly.
"You look most beautiful, darling," he said. "But then, you always do, and your frills are perfection. Now I think we ought to have breakfast; it is most awfully late."
She sat down in her place and she felt stupid tears rise in her eyes.
She poured out the tea and buttered herself some toast, while John was apparently busy at a side table where dwelt the hot dishes.
He selected the daintiest piece of sole for her, and handed her the plate.
"I am not hungry," she protested, "keep it for yourself."
He did not press the matter, but took his place and began to talk quietly upon the news of the day—in a composed fashion between glances at The Times and mouthfuls of sole.
Amaryllis controlled herself. She was too proud and too just to make a foolish scene. If this was John's way and her little effort at enticement was a failure, she must put up with it. Marriage was a lottery she had always heard, and it might be her luck to have drawn a blank. So she choked down the rising emotion and answered brightly, showing interest in her husband's remarks—and she even managed to eat some omelette, and when the business of breakfast was quite over she went to the window and John followed her there.