She cast a quick glance at herself in the mirror close at hand, touched her hair with rapid fingers, smoothed the agitation from her forehead, and sat down in a deep chair near the fireplace, opening a book, turning her back towards the door.
She heard him come in, but did not move. Even as he crossed the floor she kept her head turned away. The footsteps paused near at hand. There was a moment's silence. Then slowly Laura, laying down her book, turned and faced him.
"With many very, very happy returns of the day," said Sheldon Corthell, as he held towards her a cluster of deep-blue violets.
Laura sprang to her feet, a hand upon her cheek, her eyes wide and flashing.
"You?" was all she had breath to utter. "You?"
The artist smiled as he laid the flowers upon the table. "I am going away again to-morrow," he said, "for always, I think. Have I startled you? I only came to say good-by—and to wish you a happy birthday."
"Oh you remembered!" she cried. "You remembered! I might have known you would."
But the revulsion had been too great. She had been wrong after all. Jadwin had forgotten. Emotions to which she could put no name swelled in her heart and rose in a quick, gasping sob to her throat. The tears sprang to her eyes. Old impulses, forgotten impetuosities whipped her on.
"Oh, you remembered, you remembered!" she cried again, holding out both her hands.
He caught them in his own.