The spell was broken by the sound of a light step on the stair, and the appearance of Winifred herself in the doorway,—Winifred in her gown [Pg 333] of soft gray silk, with a bunch of his roses at her belt,—Winifred as he had never seen her before, with the gladness of unrestrained welcome in her eyes, with shy words of love almost trembling on her lips.
Flint started forward, then thought of the girl behind the closed door, and hesitated. Surely they could postpone happiness for a time to bind up the bruises of that foolish wayfarer who was none the less to be pitied that her wounds were self-inflicted.
Winifred's quick perception took in at once the agitation of his face and manner.
"You are in trouble!" she said, coming close to him with swift sympathy.
"Yes, in trouble and in perplexity. I have come to you for help."
"I am glad you have come to me," the girl said simply, and stood with uplifted eyes waiting for him to go on.
"Don't look at me like that," Flint cried out; "when you do I can think of nothing but you, and to-night we must both think about some one else."
"Who is it? What is it? Tell me from the beginning."
Flint was profoundly moved by the instant putting aside of all thoughts of self in the desire to be of service.