He stood up, but did not move towards her. Instead, he just stood looking, looking into her eyes. Hers fell, and again the quick colour came and went.
“Hal is not here,” he said simply; “she went to Miss Vivian last week.”
“Oh, I am glad. I was afraid she had not had time. I thought, when I saw the flowers…” An idea seemed to strike her suddenly. She looked at him, and her eyes were full of a question she could not ask. “I thought only Hal knew I should be returning today.”
“I knew,” he said simply.
“Did you… did you…” she was at a loss to finish.
This hesitating nervousness was new to him. He had never seen her before other than calmly self-possessed. It called, with swift-calling, to his natural masculine strength and masculine protectiveness. It enabled him to grow sure of himself, and strong.
“Yes, I sent the flowers,” he answered. “I wanted badly to come to the station to meet you, but I was afraid you might think it an impertinence.” He came a little nearer. “Sould you have thought so?”
He seemed to be waiting for an answer, and she said shyly:
“I should have thought it very kind of you.”
“I am always wanting to do things for you,” he said, “and I am always afraid I shall only vex you. And I wouldn’t vex you for the world,” in a low, fervent voice.