“I was afraid you might think it presumptuous,” he said. “I haven't any right, of course. I thought of flowers—but they fade and what have you? You said that, you know, about Joe's roses. And then, your mother said you wouldn't be offended—”
“Don't apologize for making me so happy!” she cried. “It's wonderful, really. And the little hand is for pulses! How many queer things you know!”
After that she must pin it on, and slip in to stand before his mirror and inspect the result. It gave Le Moyne a queer thrill to see her there in the room among his books and his pipes. It make him a little sick, too, in view of to-morrow and the thousand-odd to-morrows when she would not be there.
“I've kept you up shamefully,'” she said at last, “and you get up so early. I shall write you a note from the hospital, delivering a little lecture on extravagance—because how can I now, with this joy shining on me? And about how to keep Katie in order about your socks, and all sorts of things. And—and now, good-night.”
She had moved to the door, and he followed her, stooping a little to pass under the low chandelier.
“Good-night,” said Sidney.
“Good-bye—and God bless you.”
She went out, and he closed the door softly behind her.