“It is only that once, when I was short of ready money, and anxious, in spite of poor Stephen’s entreaties, to send you some, I gave him a pair of ear-rings and two other little trinkets I never wore, and asked him to sell them for me.”
Harry started up restlessly from the sofa and began marching up and down; then he stopped short in front of her.
“Why didn’t you write to me when you got no acknowledgment?”
“I didn’t like to. I thought Stephen had kept from you the fact that the money came from me.”
“And you thought I was such a booby as not to have guessed, and such a bear as not to have thanked you? Annie, that is impossible! You are hiding something from me still.”
But Annie did not answer or look at him. Her eyes were fixed in front of her, as a new light broke in upon her bewildered mind.
“Harry,” said she at length, raising her glittering eyes to his with an expression which was almost fear, “those flowers—you sent—by Stephen—a few days ago——”
“Oh, did you get those then? He did not condescend to—”
“Were they for me?” she asked, in a low voice.
“For you! Of course they were for you; who else should they be for?” said Harry, irritably, his excitement getting the better of him.