He made no answer. And he never reflected that she had all kinds of flowers in her garden.
"I brought a basket to put the flowers in," she went on. "But perhaps I shan't find any. We want them for a party, for the table. We are going to give a party."
"Here are anemones and violets," he said. "Higher up there are generally hops. But perhaps it is too early in the year for them."
"You are paler than when I saw you last," she remarked to him. "That is over two years ago. You have been away, I've heard. I have read your books."
Still he did not answer. It occurred to him that perhaps he might say: "Well, good evening, Miss Victoria," and go. From the place where he stood it was one step down to the next stone and from there one to her, and then he could withdraw as though quite naturally. She stood right in his path. She had on a yellow dress and a red hat, she was strangely beautiful; her throat was bare.
"I am blocking your way," he mumbled and stepped down. He controlled himself so as not to show any emotion.
There was now one pace between them. She did not make way for him, but stood still. They looked one another in the face. Suddenly she turned very red, dropped her eyes and stepped aside; an irresolute expression came over her face, but she smiled.
He went past her and stopped, her sad smile struck him, his heart flew back to her and he said at random:
"Well, of course you have been in town many times since? Since that time?... Now I know where there used to be flowers in old days: on the knoll by your flagstaff."
She turned towards him and he saw with surprise that her face had become pale and agitated.