With conscious effort, because he must do something, he crossed the room till he stood beside her. Still she did not turn her eyes from the window.
He stood looking down at her. She was a pathetic figure as she sat there--the more pathetic, to the eyes of youth at least, because she was so lovely, so young and fresh really, although a little pale and heavy-eyed. He saw dark shadows under her eyes which must have come from tears.
The sight of these unlocked him, drowned all his hesitations in pitying love. He dropped on his knees beside her chair, laying the long-stemmed roses regardlessly on the floor and putting one hand on the back of her chair.
"Mollie June!" he said.
She did not start. Evidently she had known he was there. She looked first at the flowers on the floor and then at his face.
"I am so sorry," he cried.
"Are you sorry or glad?" she asked.
"I am terribly sorry for you," he answered. Her hands lay together in her lap, and he attempted to take one of them.
But she moved them slightly.
"Don't," she said.