“Bloemetjes,” he explained, and smiled at the patient.
“Ah!” Lawless smiled too. “Been botanising, have you? And I benefit by the fruits of your labour. It’s kind of you to remember a poor devil who can’t even crawl out into the sunshine. It’s precious dull work lying here, Burton. I don’t know what I should do if it wasn’t for your visits—cut my throat, if they’d give me a chance.”
“Oh! you grow better now with every day,” Mr Burton answered cheerfully. “Discontent is a proof of convalescence. You’ll soon be able to do your own botanising. By the way, I don’t wish to appropriate thanks that are not due to me. I had nothing to do with the gathering of those flowers. A lady staying in the hotel sent them to you.”
Lawless made no immediate response. His weary, fretful gaze sought the flowers, rested upon them a moment, and then turned deliberately away.
“Very kind of her,” he answered briefly, and was careful not to refer to the subject again.
Mr Burton regretted that he had no more expansive message of appreciation to carry away with him. But Mrs Lawless did not appear disappointed. She had not expected more. His want of curiosity as to the identity of the sender of the flowers told her what she desired to know. He was fully aware that she was staying in the hotel.
The next day she gathered fresh flowers, and Mr Burton carried them in as before. On this occasion the recipient made no remark; so far as Mr Burton saw he did not even look at them.
The little man carried away a sorely troubled heart. After his simple fashion he had grown fond of Zoë Lawless. It was a real delight to him to bear her any small crumb of comfort, to have to go to her empty-handed distressed him beyond measure. She shook her head at sight of his serious face and smiled faintly. She could always judge the nature of the news he brought before he imparted it by the gravity or gladness of his look. To-day it was very grave, and since the patient’s condition no longer called for serious anxiety, she knew her offering had not been well received.
“He snubbed my poor little gift,” she said.
And he wondered how she had divined it, and sought, as he always did when he believed she was feeling hurt, to offer consolation.