She tripped away, and I shut and locked the door. I could not bear to encounter her face, for it was full of meaning. She treated me as though I were slightly ill, and as though she were my nurse. I hated beyond words the knowledge that she shared my secret with me; but then, of course, I had no secret, for although Vernon Carbury had said those wonderful, those amazing words, I did not love him back again. How was it possible that I, a girl who respected myself, could love a man who a few weeks before had been engaged to another?
I sat in my room, leaning back in my comfortable chair; then I started up and paced the floor impatiently; then I tried very hard to make myself angry with Captain Carbury—I wanted to force myself even to hate him a little bit—but I did not succeed. I could only remember the look in his eyes, and the smile on his lips, and the thrill in his voice, when he told me how he cared for me, and I could only recall the fact that I certainly would meet him at eleven o'clock on the following morning in Hyde Park.
Morris must share my secret. It was a terrible thing to reflect about, but I could not go to Hyde Park alone; she must, therefore, accompany me. Well, that would end the whole thing. I would tell dear, kind Vernon that all my life long I would remember his good words to me, and that I would ever and ever keep him in my gallery of heroes, but that, of course—and I knew that I must speak very steadily and firmly at this juncture of my conversation—I could never love him, nor, by any possibility, marry him. I should be quite pleased to be his friend, but beyond that anything else was impossible.
There came a tap at my door. It was Morris, bearing a tray with some delicately-prepared tea, some fragrant toast, some little pats of delicious butter, on a silver tray, and a nice, fresh, brown egg, lightly boiled. Morris carried the tray in one hand; in the other she held a great basket full of the most exquisite roses I had ever seen in my life.
"For you, Miss Dalrymple," she said, and she laid the basket of roses on the dressing-table.
"Oh! oh!" I said. I adored flowers, and I buried my face now in the fragrant blooms.
"Aren't they beautiful, miss?" remarked Morris. "They must have cost a small fortune."
My cheeks were very red indeed, nor did I look up from sniffing at the flowers until Morris had left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Then I rose slowly, and carrying the basket with me, laid it on the floor at my feet. I sat down by the table, where my small lunch awaited me, but I did not care to eat. I began carefully to take one beautiful blossom after another out of the basket. Of course, Vernon Carbury had sent these flowers to me; there was no doubt whatever on the subject. How reckless of him—how wrong of him! And yet, how splendidly nice and delightful of him! But I must speak to him on this very point to-morrow. He was, of course, far from rich, and he must on no account spend his money on me; I would not permit it for a moment. Still, it was delightful to sniff these roses, and to think of him, and to wonder, deep down in my heart, what he could find in a little, insignificant girl like me to love.
I had finished my tea and was standing by the window, when, to my amazement, I heard a firm and determined knock at the door. Whoever the person was who waited without, she did not linger long; she turned the handle of the door and entered.
It was my stepmother. Her eyes lighted up with pleasure as they fell on the beautiful basket of hothouse roses.