Denis Quirk waited until the other had gone. Then he went to Kathleen to find her working among the flowers, filling the vases and placing them in the positions where Mrs. Quirk had liked to see them. He sat watching her silently, as he had been accustomed to do in the days of their first acquaintance. Presently she turned towards him.
"You remind me of the old Denis Quirk to-day—the one whom I resented," she said.
"I was summing you up in those days," he answered; "just wondering whether you were genuine."
"That was what I objected to," she answered. "I have never been subjected to examination—I have not so much as examined myself too critically—and the feeling is creepy."
"You have been tried and acquitted," he laughed. "You leave the court without a stain upon your character. Indeed, you have been promoted to stand upon a pedestal, and receive the admiration of your fellows."
"No, no! Not that, if you please," she cried. "Allow me to remain just a woman. It is my best plea for leniency. I detest the idea of a pedestal. Supposing I were found to have a flaw—I have a good many, I assure you—everyone would see it. Let me hide myself in the crowd."
"Only one person is permitted to admire you on the pedestal; the one who has placed you there. In his eyes there is no flaw. But," he added, hastily, "I may, at least, thank you for your kindness to my parents. You are a good woman, and you need no higher praise. Take care of the old man, and—good-bye."
He took her hand and crushed it in his own. Then he turned abruptly on his heel and left her. That night she fancied she could hear him pacing the avenue restlessly, and in that fact she found security. The following morning he was gone.
"Where is Denis?" old Samuel Quirk asked her, in his half-sleepy way.