CHAPTER V.
WINDING THE SKEIN.
“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”
—Browning.
It was April, and the days came with a sheen of blue sky between rifts of rain.
Quick steps sounded at the Cheshire door, and the brass knocker beat like an anvil through the house, setting the maid’s feet in a run to answer it. Joscelyn came down from her room with wide eyes of curiosity to find Eustace Singleton in the parlour, a great nosegay of roses in his hand.
“From the knocking you kept up, I thought the whole Continental army must be at my door! You have brought me the first roses of the year,” she exclaimed; “how kind!” and she stretched out her hand for the flowers.
“No—they are not for you—not exactly,” he stammered, holding them out of her reach.
“Mother will appreciate them, and I shall enjoy them quite the same.”