“I wonder if he would like it,” she questioned, and a breath of fragrance from the half-blown rose answered her. “He can smell it, even if he can’t see it,” she thought, and stepped inside the room.
The man turned his head.
“Would you like one of my birthday roses?” she asked. “It is very sweet.” She put it in his hand.
“I thank you, indeed.” The sad lips smiled. “This is quite outside of my programme. In fact, I had almost forgotten there were such pleasant times as birthdays.”
“It was day before yesterday,” she ventured.
“And I judge by your voice that the number of roses needed was not large.”
She laughed softly. “Only eleven.”
“About as I guessed! I hope the rest of the birthday matched the roses. This is very beautiful.” His fingers gave it a caressing touch.
“Oh, I had a lovelicious birthday! I really had two of them!”