She was listening now with parted lips, apparently unconscious of the fixity of her gaze.
"You mean it is a choice between that or nothing," she said, in a low voice. "That there is no use in lifting people out of the treadmill —and removing the terror of poverty unless you can give them something more—than I have got."
"And something more—than I have got,"—he was suddenly moved to reply…
Presently, while the silence still held between them, the door opened and startled them into reality. Mr. Bentley came in.
The old gentleman gave no sign, as they rose to meet him, of a sense of tension in the atmosphere he had entered—yet each felt—somehow, that he knew. The tension was released. The same thought occurred to both as they beheld the peaceful welcome shining in his face, "Here is what we are seeking. Why try to define it?"
"To think that I have been gossiping with Mrs. Meyer, while you were waiting for me!" he said. "She keeps the little florist's shop at the corner of Tower Street, and she gave me these. I little guessed what good use I should have for them, my dear."
He held out to her three fragrant, crimson roses that matched the responsive colour in her cheeks as she thanked him and pinned them on her gown. He regarded her an instant.
"But I'm sure Mr. Hodder has entertained you," Mr. Bentley turned, and laid his hand on the rector's shoulder.
"Most successfully," said Alison, cutting short his protest. And she smiled at Hodder, faintly.