"Nothing, perhaps," said Faith with the same simplicity. "I only thought it right to put you there, Mr. Linden."
"Thank you, Miss Faith. Now will you please pronounce over me the two words intended for Reuben?"
Faith laughed a little, but then said gravely, "Mr. Linden, I should be very sorry to think you needed them."
"It's impossible always to avoid being very sorry: I want them, at all events. Haven't you just been putting nonsense into my head?"
"Have I?" said Faith.
"Do you suppose there was any there before?"
"I—don't—think," said Faith, surveying his face,—"there is much there now. I guess you don't need the two words, Mr. Linden. I was going to tell Reuben he was a goose for thinking that that man could hurt you."
His face changed a little.
"Poor Reuben!" he said—then with the former look—"On the whole, perhaps it was well he did not come back. If you put those in water they will open their eyes to-morrow. Fresh water—not salt," he added as he followed her into the house,—"they are not part of the marine Flora."
Tea was ready, with its usual cheer of eatables and pleasant faces; not quite with its usual flow of talk. Mrs. Derrick certainly had something bewildering on her mind, for she even looked at her guest two or three times when he was looking at her. The pond lilies were alone in the twilight parlour.