"Good morning, Mr.--John," she said.
He half perceived that her voice sounded tired and a little sad. But the daintiness of breakfast coats and boudoir caps was as strange in Merriam's world as white shoulders were. His eyes drank it in delightfully. In his pleasure her note of sadness escaped him. He answered almost gaily:
"Good morning--Mollie June!"
His tone probably betrayed his mood, and I dare say Mollie June guessed the reason for his happiness. But she ignored both mood and reason. She had turned back to the roses.
"Come and help me," she said. "These flowers must have fresh water."
Merriam pushed the door shut behind him and advanced rapidly. I am almost afraid he might have taken her in his arms. But Mollie June was already half way across the room with the roses, to lay them on a newspaper which she had previously spread on the seat of a straight-backed chair. So all that Merriam got his hands on was the bowl.
"Empty it in there," said Mollie June, indicating the bathroom between the sitting room and Norman's empty bedroom, "and fill it with cold water."
Thankful that no reply was immediately demanded, Merriam did as he was bid.
When he reëntered the sitting room with the fresh water, Mollie June stooped over the chair, gathered up the roses, and came towards him.
"Set it back in the same place," she said.