"Perhaps I better put my coat on. If you'll hold these," passing Nathan her bag, the little white box with the cake in it, and the lilies-of-the-valley.
He held them carefully, while she slipped into the long black coat, tucking all her wedding-day finery out of sight, concealing completely the smart lines of Madame Boulangeat's costume, and the feather boa, too, as she buttoned the coat up snug about her neck.
"There!" she ejaculated with satisfaction. "Now!" and took back her belongings, and sat down.
Nathan sat down too.
"You look more suited to a rough fellow like me now," he remarked with a sigh of relief, "though I won't be forgetting," he was quick to assure her, "those little bunches of heliotrope and pink rosebuds you wore. I always thought that the heliotrope plant my mother got to bloom for her on the sunny window-sill at home had just the sweetest, rarest, sort of most-expensive smell there was. I won't be forgetting, rough, nasty nights at sea, how like a pretty, cultivated garden you looked to-day—all neat and trimmed, and expensive, and just sprinkled, and nice-kept."
Reba gave a little embarrassed laugh. "How queerly you put things, sometimes," she said. "I don't believe anybody puts things so queerly as you." Then abruptly changing the subject, first drawing in her breath deep as if about to dive off a springboard, "The minister didn't ask me what symbol I had for you," she said, and glanced down at her hands in her lap. She had not put on her gloves, and she began turning about the broad gold band on the third finger of her left hand.
Nathan, finally comprehending, replied, "No, he
