“No. Sorry to be late, honey. Get dinner on the table and I’ll be ready——”
“I’m afraid things won’t be very appetizing,” she told him; “they’ve waited so long. But I’ll cook the steak——”
He had gone on, and was beyond the sound of her voice. She opened the fat parcel which he had deposited on the kitchen table. She wondered a bit at its size. But Baldy had a way of bringing home unexpected bargains—a dozen boxes of crackers—unwieldy pounds of coffee.
But this was neither crackers nor coffee. The box which was revealed bore the name of a fashionable florist. Within were violets—single ones—set off by one perfect rose and tied with a silver ribbon.
Jane gasped—then she went to the door and called:
He came to the top of the stairs. “Great guns,” he said, “I forgot it!”
Then he saw the violets in her hands, laughed and came down a step or two. “I sold a loaf of bread and bought—white hyacinths——”
“They’re heavenly!” Her glance swept up to him. “Peace offering?”
There were gay sparks in his eyes. “We’ll call it that.”