One bright December afternoon I returned at three o’clock, and found she had been absent since eleven that morning. I took a cab to Pont Street, but ascertaining she had not been there, returned home, and impatiently awaited her until nearly six. As soon as I heard her light footstep I seized a book that lay nearest and pretended to read. She burst in like a ray of sunshine, her face aglow with laughter, and in her hand an immense bunch of sweet-smelling violets.
The book chanced to be a Koran in Arabic. She came across to kiss me, but I waved her off with dignity, and went on translating the Word of the Prophet.
Ella stood back indignant, and with her flowers in front of her waited at the other side of the table.
After a pause I commenced, “You went out this morning ten minutes after I had gone; it is now six o’clock. You have been absent seven hours.”
Ella nodded.
“And how have you employed your time?” I asked. “Have you been shopping, as usual?”
Ella again nodded.
“Seven hours is a long time. Where did you get those flowers?” I asked, sniffing contemptuously at the huge bunch of sweet-smelling blossoms she had let fall before me.
“I bought them at Scott’s.”
“That is a bunch specially made up for presentation,” I said. “Someone gave them to you.”