She put it on his table, found water and filled it, then arranged the violets in it.
"Oh! my dear! it's beautiful!" he said, and then, with his eyes fixed upon her face, watched her arrange the flowers. But he brought out at last, "I'm afraid I can't promise to be alone for tea."
"Oh!" she stepped back from the flowers and looked at him. They faced one another, the silver bowl between them. She stood, as she always did, when she had something difficult to face, her long hands straight at her side, her hands slowly closing and unclosing, her eyes fixed upon some far distance.
"Roddy, please!" she said, "I do want to be alone with you this afternoon. I have a special, very special reason. I want to talk."
"You see——" he said.
"No," she cried impatiently. "We must have this afternoon to ourselves. Tell Peters that you're too ill, too tired, anything. I'm sure, after all that storm last night, it would be perfectly natural if you were. Now, please, Roddy."
"I'm awfully sorry, Rachel dear. If I'd only known. If you'd only told me last night."
"I didn't know myself last night. How could I? But now—it's most awfully important, Roddy. I've—I've something to tell you."
His heart beat thickly, his eyes shone.
"Well, they won't stay long, I dare say."