Louis helped them into the carriage, and then turned away, saying he was going for a long walk. There was a look of gravity on his face that Margaret found herself recalling long afterward.
The weather continued fine, and it proved quite mild enough for Louis and Margaret to walk to church in the evening. As they took their way along the gayly lighted streets, the young man turned suddenly and, looking down into her face, said:
“Do you know, I found a little pressed flower in my Hymnal, when I opened it this morning. Am I to keep it or return it to you?”
They were just under a gas-light, and Margaret, though she would not drop her eyes under his searching gaze, felt that she looked confused, as she said:
“No; you must give that back to me. I had forgotten it.”
It was a little flower that Charley Somers had put in there one evening, and she had never happened to remove it.
Mr. Gaston put his hand into his pocket and took out the book. It opened easily at the place, and he removed the flower, which was run into a little slit, and handed it to her as they entered the church vestibule.
“There were some initials under it,” he said.
“Oh, you can just rub those out. It doesn’t matter,” said Margaret, as she took the flower. She was about to crush and throw it from her, when a pang of pity for poor Charley checked her; so she opened her own Prayer-book and hurriedly slipped it among the leaves.
The service seemed wonderfully sweet to her that night. The hymns and anthems were triumphant and inspiring, and the sermon was simple, earnest and comforting. Louis found his places, and used his little book sedulously, and Margaret felt intuitively that this service was sweet to him also. As she glanced at him occasionally, she saw that his face looked serious and a little careworn, now that she saw it in such perfect repose.