"My mistake," he returned good-humouredly. "We're such slight acquaintances, I expect it was pretty cool cheek of me to ask you a personal question. I'm afraid there are a good many holes in my manners."
No man could have shouldered the blame more naturally. The train came in. He found her a carriage, and handed in her things to her; then shyly offered the flowers.
"A little village kid gave me these," he said; and she thought, as he spoke, how fine a head and shoulders he had, framed in the square of the open window. "I thought you might like to take them to town with you."
She just managed to say, with a vague smile, "Thank you." Then the train started, he had raised his hat, stepped back, and she was in solitude. For full five minutes she sat motionless, crouched together, her two hands gripping the seat, her eyes fixed on the unoffending primroses, whose delicate, mysterious fragrance stole towards her on the evening air.
At last, with a strangled cry, she sprang to her feet, seized them, hurled them with all her force through the window; and then, sinking back into her corner, burst into wild, ungovernable tears.
CHAPTER XXIV
UNREST
"Let me alone! Why must you claim me? I
Am woman—do you tell me I must lie
All passive in Fate's arms until I die?
I must not care for Art, nor crave to be
A force in this fair world—'tis not for me
To live my own life. Was I made for thee?
No! I am rebel! Through life's open gate
I pass alone, and free; you come too late!
Or is't too soon? I know not; let us wait."