"Did you see—her?"
"Yes."
"Well," restlessly, "have you naught to say about her?"
"No," coldly. "What should I have to say of her? It's no business of mine to talk her over."
"You'd talk her over if you were in my place," said Haworth. "You'd be glad enow to do it. You'd think of her night and day, and grow hot and cold at the thought of her. You—you don't know her as I do—if you did——"
They had reached the turn of the lane, and the light of the lamp which stood there fell upon them. Haworth broke off his words and stopped under the blaze. Murdoch saw his face darken with bitter passion.
"Curse you!" he said. "Where did you get it?"
Without comprehending him Murdoch looked down at his own hand at which the man was pointing, and saw in it the flower he had forgotten he held.
"This?" he said, and though he did not know why, the blood leaped to his face.