He leaned far over the sill.
And suddenly the night wind brought him the smell of flowers.
Gradually the odor of the flowers blending subtly and faint at first, grew more distinct; heavier.
He stood there smiling.
Flowers—
Her—flowers—
"I'm coming;" he whispered. "I'm—coming—to—you—now—dear—"
THE SHADOW
He was colossally vain.