"Yes!"—a pause,—"are you answered fully now?"
"Fully.—Let me have the twig."
He released my hand. I looked at the bit of birch closely, scrutinizingly. I found what I was hoping to find: a tiny sign of life, a wee nub of green; something ready, unseared, for another year.
"I think I 'll take it home," I said, as if interested only in botany; "I find there is life left in it—a tiny bud that may be a shoot in time. I 'll see what I can do with it; the experiment is worth trying."
He smiled for answer. He understood. The beast of the Past was again in its lair. I regained my usual good spirits and proposed that we see Mrs. Boucher's flower gardens before we turned homewards.
"I like to hear you use that word—it is a new one for me."
"For me, too; and if you don't object I would like you to know why it means so much to me. You see I am anticipating the personal questions."
"I want to know—all that I may."
"It is your right, now that I am in your home. Shall I find you in the office this evening?"
"Yes; but rather late. Shall we say ten? I shall not be at home for porridge."