And yet it was Anne who entered, Anne with the flush of exercise on her sweet face, her hands full of Russian violets.
"See how busy I have been!" she said. "I am not disturbing you? You weren't asleep?"
"I never sleep," he answered, and he did not look at her or the violets; he kept his eyes upon the ceiling.
She came and sat beside him. "I gathered them all myself," she said.
"Don't you want to smell them?"
He moved his lips without replying, and she leaned down, her eyes full of the utmost compassionate tenderness and held the violets to him. He raised a hand with evident effort and fumblingly took her wrist. He pressed the wet flowers against his face.
"It's a shame to bring them here, Lady Carfax," he said, letting her go.
"Take them—wear them! I guess they'll be happier with you."
She smiled a little. "Should I have gathered all this quantity for myself? It has taken me nearly an hour."
"You should have told the gardener," he said. "You mustn't go tiring yourself out over me. I'm not worth it." He added, with that kindly courtesy of which adversity had never deprived him, "But I'm real grateful all the same. You mustn't think me unappreciative."
"I don't," she answered gently. "Wouldn't you like them in water?"
"Ah, yes," he said. "Put them near me. I shall smell them if I can't see them. Do you mind closing the window? I can't get warm to-day."