It is when we most crave for bread that life has this ironical trick of presenting us with a stone.
Honor, in the meanwhile, had reached Mrs Conolly's bungalow. She found her in the drawing-room arranging flower-vases, and equipped for her morning ride.
"Honor? You? How delightful!" Then catching a clearer view of the girl's face: "My dear—what is it?"
Honor smiled.
"I am afraid you were going out," she said, evading the question.
"Certainly I was; but I am not going now. It is evident that you want me."
"Yes—I want you."
Mrs Jim called out an order to the waiting sais; and followed Honor, who had gone over to the mantelpiece, and buried her face in the cool fragrance of a cluster of Gloire de Dijons.