The rose, trampled out of shape, trodden on by many feet, lay there, soiled and petalless.
If Julian were to snatch him away, were to cast him down under foot and crush him—what would she do? Would she wear him again? Would she stoop to him?
She stood in the grey, cool porch, looking at the battered flower. Then she bent, picked up the rose, and hid it in her bosom.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] Now the Bedford Inn.
CHAPTER XXIV. KILWORTHY.
Anthony helped Urith to the saddle, saying,
"I am not coming home just now. You must ride back alone."