The blind girl was carrying roses—white roses—all white. One red rose had been among them, but it had fallen unheeded to the ground, and would soon be trodden under foot on the tesselated pavement. Why had she dropped the red rose? She could ill spare that.
And then a curious fancy came upon him, and he asked himself whether Mona too had dropped her red rose. She had seemed so cold, so self-possessed, so passionless. Did the red rose lie quite, quite behind her? Was it already withered and trampled under foot, or could he still help her to pick it up again?
"Oh, my love, my love," he said, "you don't really care for all those men! You do belong to me, don't you? don't you?"
But at this point Ralph's thoughts became incoherent, if indeed they had not been so before.
To-morrow, at least, thank God! she would be out of the din and crowd; to-morrow he could see her alone, and say whatever he would.
CHAPTER LIX.
AT LAST!
Neither Ralph nor Mona slept much that night.
Mr Reynolds had said nothing to his "elder daughter" about his conversation with Dr Dudley. He had sufficient confidence in her absolute honesty to believe that she would do herself more justice if she were taken unprepared; but Ralph's manner at the Munros' had been a revelation in itself, and Mona felt sure that night that, for better or worse, some great change had taken place in his feelings towards her.
"Let me not lose my pride!" she cried. "Nothing can alter the fact that he has treated me cruelly—cruelly."