“And you think I should have something else for the wedding bouquet?”
“I think she might like it better.” There was a faint flush on her cheek.
“What would you suggest?”
“I can’t be sure what Miss Towne would like.”
“What would you like?” intently.
She considered it seriously—her slender fingers clasped on her book. “I think,” she told him, finally, “that if I were going to marry a man I should want what he wanted.”
He laughed and leaned forward. “Good heavens, are there any women like that left in the world?”
Her flush deepened, she rose and went towards the door. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.”
His voice changed. “Indeed, I am glad you did.” He had risen and now held the door open for her. “We men are stupid creatures. I should never have found it out for myself.”
She went away, and he sat there thinking about her. Her impersonal manner had always been perfect, and he had found her little flush charming.