The Philosopher looked as if he did not mean to let it hurry him. He drew his chair near mine, facing me, after a fashion he has, and looked at me in silence for a minute.
"You are tired," he said.
"A little. The rooms were very warm."
"They were. They made the violets droop, I see."
I put up my hand. "Yes. I meant to take them off."
"Perhaps you don't like violets. If I could have found a bunch of sweet-williams to send you instead, like those in your own garden, I should have preferred it. I know what you like among summer flowers, but with these florist's offerings I'm not so familiar. I'm afraid I'm not much versed in the sending of flowers."
"Did you send these?" I put my hand up to them again. They certainly were drooping sadly. Perhaps if they had known who sent them——
"To be sure I did."
"There was no card. I thought it was Don—and forgot to thank him—luckily. Let me thank you now. They have been so sweet all the evening."
"Too sweet, haven't they? You looked a bit pale to-night, I thought."