But there would be no use in repeating what he wrote, for nobody ever read that card.
He put it with the flowers, and set off home. When he got there he gave the bouquet, very sodden now, to Mrs. Brown’s servant, and said to her:
“Please give this to Miss Selby. Give it to her yourself; don’t send it.”
Then he went up to his own room and locked the door. And the room was all filled with the gray light of a rainy day.
The clang of the dinner bell startled him; he jumped up, scowling, and muttered: “Oh, shut up!” But, just the same, he had to obey it. He had to go downstairs, and had to sit at the little table.[Pg 379]
Scarcely had he sat down when he saw Miss Selby enter the room—Miss Selby in a new dark green linen dress, looking unusually pretty, and not even pale.
He arose; he was pale enough. He couldn’t speak. She must have received that card; she must have read it. As she glanced at him, he saw the color deepen in her cheeks, and her smile was uncertain. She was so lovely.
“I thought—” he began.
She sat down, and he did, too. Again their eyes met.
“It’s a miserable day,” she observed.