He made me no reply, but turned again to his writing-desk, and was locking the letters safely away when I left the room. Then I bethought me of the letter still unopened in my pocket, and was hastening to my room, when Mrs. Flaxman intercepted me.
"Won't you come into my room, Medoline, just for a few minutes?"
I followed her with some reluctance; for Mrs. Flaxman's few minutes, I imagined, might extend into a good many, if she got to talking.
"I want to show the presents Mr. Bovver has sent us from New York—one for each of us."
She lifted the cover from a box on her stand, and handed me the most superbly-bound book I had ever seen.
"Yours is the prettiest," she said, admiringly, as I turned over the leaves, looking at the engravings.
"Don't you like it, dear?" she asked, surprised that I was so silent over my prize.
"Yes—if it had not come from Mr. Bovyer."
"Why, Medoline! not like a gift coming from one so kind and true as he is?"
"I wish I had never seen him." I threw down the book and burst into tears.