She got up and walked in. He did not move.
"Thank you for the flowers."
The sun was glittering frivolous and cynical.
The box he had ordered from Paris had arrived. First there was a mass of Juliette roses—gilt and velvet—then a staircase of sweet peas, flame-coloured, coral, crimson, magenta, purple, bronze and black.
Both together they drank in the blaze of colour.
Ecstatically he said to her,
"You can't thank me, can you? They are too beautiful."
"Perhaps not," she said, "but it was beauty unleashed by you."
He looked at her with adoring eyes. She gave you phrases which lit torches in your soul.