So, tired as she was, she lifted it up, saxifrage and all, in both her hands, went downstairs, and so across the lawn to a place she wotted of where it might grow undisturbed by fear of old Adam's meddling fork. There was a certain solemnity about her necessarily slow movements, and she felt almost as if she were conducting a funeral. And so in truth it was; a funeral of her careless girlhood. She was a woman now; she had begun to understand herself. Yet as she laid the flower on the spot where she intended to plant it and went for her trowel, the pity of the funeral hit her hard, and when she returned Ned's blue eyes seemed to look at her appealingly from the iris's broad face. His were such beautiful eyes!
She dug furiously, forgetful of everything but her desire to bury, until a step sounded beside her, and she looked up to see another pair of blue eyes broader, bolder, looking down at her.
"What are you digging," said Ted with a ring of aggrievedness in his voice; "a grave? Oh! I beg your pardon, dear, I oughtn't to have said that, I oughtn't to have reminded you--but I've been expecting you to return for such a long while--and--oh! my poor little girl--I'm so sorry for it all--it must have been horrible."
His normal sympathy brought her back to normal. She realised as she had not realised with Ned, that after all she was but a mere girl who needed cossetting and comforting after the terrible shock of the morning.
"It was horrible," she replied, with a little shiver; "you can't think how horrible--somehow, after it all, it is good to see you just--just yourself."
She felt indeed grateful to him for his size, his solidity, his undoubted affection: perhaps unconsciously she was grateful to him for his failure to disturb her inmost soul.
"It must have been awful," he said, his blue eyes showing all the kindness in the world. "I can't think how you got through with it as you have; but you are so brave--far braver than I should be--but come, don't let us talk or think of it any more. Don't let us spoil my last afternoon."
She stood up startled. "Your last!" she cried, in quick concern. "Oh! Ted, why is it your last?"
He took a step nearer to her, his face lit up with content. "I'm so glad you care--I suppose it's selfish--but I am glad. Yes! I have to go. Hirsch has business for me in Paris--most important business, and I must leave by the mail to-night."
Even as he spoke, his mind running on ahead, thought with a different content of what this visit to Paris might mean to them both, if things turned out as he hoped they might.