When he entered the bedroom the nurse withdrew. She usually did, but he had never appreciated the tact of the proceeding as he did on that particular morning. Lawless was resting propped up against a quantity of pillows. He was colourless and wretchedly thin in face, but the improvement in his appearance was already very marked. He gained ground daily now.
He smiled his welcome when Mr Burton entered, but when his glance fell on the bunch of bloemetjes he frowned.
“I wish you didn’t bring that litter with you every morning,” he complained.
Mr Burton, remembering his instructions, walked deliberately to the bedside and laid his offering on the pillow.
“Zoë sent them,” he explained.
Lawless stared at him, and the blood mounted slowly to his hollow cheeks.
“The devil!” he muttered.
Then suddenly a wave of angry emotion swept over him. He seized the flowers in both hands, and flung them with all his feeble strength at the surprised, concerned little man, who jumped aside to dodge the missile as though it were a bomb.
“I was afraid you would resent the familiarity,” he said apologetically. “But she told me to use her name.”
“Oh! go to blazes!” Lawless muttered, already ashamed of the outburst. “What does it matter what you call her? ... Take back those bloemetjes to her, you old idiot, and tell her that until her consideration moves her to make her inquiries and offerings in person they have no interest for me.”