"I wish he'd keep his old flowers in his greenhouse!" she muttered disdainfully after the door was well shut. She gazed on the box with a sigh. Nevertheless, she untied it with hurrying fingers.
Great ruby roses sent their pent-up fragrance straight to her nostrils, and she drew it in with a breath of delight. Then she flung the box on the bed and finished putting her dresser in order, a task with which she had been occupied.
Little jerky bits of scorn were now and then directed toward the flowers, as if they were responsible for their intrusion. When their innocence suddenly suggested itself, she smiled.
"Poor things, they can't help it! How should I feel if I were carried where I was not wanted and then should be blamed for being there!"
Contritely she took the roses from their box and put them in her prettiest vase, quite as if she would make amends. She sat down by them and looked the matter in the face.
"I can't have these where they will remind me all day long of being a silly old woman!" She considered the blossoms with a dismal face. "What shall I do with them? I'd put them in a bundle under the bed, only I'd feel so sorry for them—no, I can't do that! I suppose I could give them away—oh, there's Mrs. Crump! The very thing! Maybe they'll help her to forget her pain. I'll take them in now!" She caught up the vase and bore it triumphantly along the hall.
Mrs. Crump was on the couch.
"All for me? Why, Miss Sterling! How good you are! You can't have kept many for yourself."
"I don't want any," laughed the donor. "I'll be glad enough if you can enjoy them."
Miss Crilly and Miss Major came in.