Captain Grey was standing by the window in the dining room, keeping her company while she ate. He turned his head aside as she spoke, but not before she had noticed on his sensitive face the odd and touching look that always came over it at any mention of his sister. Evidently he worshiped her, and yet Lexy was certain that he was somehow disappointed in her.
“She likes you very much,” he said.
“I’m glad,” said Lexy; “but how did you manage to keep the roses so wonderfully fresh, Captain Grey?”
“The doctor wrapped them for me—some rather special way, you know—damp paper, and then a cloth. He told me not to open them until I gave them to you. Very clever chap, isn’t he?”
“He is!” agreed Lexy, with a faint smile.
“Mind if I smoke, Miss Moran?” asked the young man. “Thanks!”
He lit a cigarette and sat down on the window sill. He was silent, and so was Lexy, for she fancied that he had something he wished to say.
“Miss Moran,” he said, at last, “you’ll go there again to see her, won’t you?”
Lexy considered for a moment.
“Why?” she asked. “Why did you think I wouldn’t?”