"But why not? Do tell me why not?"
"Mr. Boult is a good business man. He's my chief, and I'm not going to speak against him; but I don't quite see him buying you flowers."
"You know he loved my poor father, don't you?" she asked him in a lowered voice. She had never mentioned the dead man's name to him before; her cheek paled, he saw, as she did so now. "And I was my father's pet. You will not think me vain for saying that, will you? Mama will tell you it is not my selfish fancy alone. Mama will tell you it is true."
"Indeed, Miss Deleah, I can quite believe it."
"He was a good father to us all, and fond of us all, but of me he would talk always if he could get any to listen. He liked me to sit on his knee—I was younger then—to walk with him, and wait on him—" Her voice broke; she waited a minute before she went on. "And so I suppose Mr. Boult sends these things to me for papa's sake. I could not explain before; but you understand, do you not?"
He quite understood her point of view, Mr. Gibbon said, looking at the tablecloth.
"I knew you would, when I could explain. I think poor Mr. Boult likes me to take what he sends, for papa's sake—as if it really came from papa. You see what I mean? And I can't help thinking there is something beautiful in that thought of his."
Mr. Gibbon reflectively agreed. It was a beautiful thought, come to think of it, he said.
"Well, then—?" said Deleah.
"Well then, Miss Deleah, don't you think by mentioning the matter to him, you'll spoil all that? His intention, his beautiful thought, and the rest of it."