I was sorry to find that he had several of the things I wanted, as everything he sold was of the worst possible quality; and, while he was doing them up, Mr. Reade found an opportunity to whisper—
“You got my flowers?”
“Yes, thank you; it was very kind of you to send them.”
“Bring them,” corrected he. “What did you do with them?”
I remembered the fair-haired girl and my resolve to be discreet.
“I put them in water, and when they were dead I threw them away.”
“Threw them away?”
“Yes, of course; one doesn’t keep dead flowers,” said I calmly; but it hurt me to say it, for the words seemed to hurt him. It is very hard to be discreet.
He said no more, but took his parcel and left the shop, saluting me very coldly. I had taken up my parcel, and was going out too, when Haidee’s soft voice broke in.
“You’ve got Mr. Reade’s marbles, and he has gone off with mamma’s wool and the curtain-hooks, Miss Christie!”