He had never seen Nelly look like that before. Her air of worship was charming. Now she let Mary Gray's hands fall while she went swiftly to the table on which she had deposited her beautiful red roses. "I brought them for you," she said, offering them to Mary Gray.
"How delicious! How sweet of you!"
The smell of the roses was in the room. It might have been the aura of the two exquisite women, he thought. Nelly had come in carrying a little whiff of scent that went with her, as much a part of her as the soft rustling of her garments. He closed his eyes and there came to his memory, sweet and sharp, the odour of wild thyme. Not a second of time had passed when he opened them again. Mary was still praising her roses. She was holding them to her face, leaning towards Nelly as she did so. Her expression was more than kind: it was tender. She put down her basket of roses and took Nelly's hands between hers. For a moment she held them against her breast before she relinquished them. She spoke with a little tremor in her voice. Why was it that Robin Drummond thought suddenly of the nightingale who leans his breast upon a thorn?
In an instant the thrill in the atmosphere had passed. She was bustling about to make them tea, if her soft, quiet movements could be called bustling. She brought a kettle from the unpainted deal cupboard which housed her utensils of every day. She disappeared for a few seconds and returned with the kettle full of water and set it on the gas-stove. She pushed the papers away from one end of the table and covered it with a dainty tea-cloth. She brought out cups and saucers of thin Japanese porcelain, some sugar, a loaf and butter, a box of biscuits. While she set her table she went on talking and smiling at them. The kettle began to sing on the fire.
"Ah!" she said, with a sudden thought. "The milkman will not call for an hour yet. What are we to do?"
"Let me go and forage," said Drummond eagerly.
"The nearest dairy is a good bit off."
"Trust me to find one."
When he had gone the two girls sat down and looked at each other. No wonder she was beloved, Mary thought to herself, gloating over Nelly's golden head, her blue eyes with the dark lashes, her lovely colouring, her innocent mouth. She had a poor opinion of her own beauty and rarely looked in a glass, but she was none the less generous to beauty in others.
"And you are very happy?" she asked.