THE COMING OF THE ROSES
glanced covertly at Ethel and found her looking covertly at him. He could not quite understand her expression.
He fidgeted into the bedroom and stopped as dead as a pointer.
He felt an extraordinary persuasion of the scent of roses. So strong did it seem that he glanced outside the room door, expecting to find a box there, mysteriously arrived. But there was no scent of roses in the passage.
Then he saw close by his foot an enigmatical pale object, and stooping, picked up the creamy petal of a rose. He stood with it in his hand, perplexed beyond measure. He perceived a slight disorder of the valence of the dressing-table and linked it with this petal by a swift intuition.
He made two steps, lifted the valence, and behold! there lay his roses crushed together!
He gasped like a man who plunges suddenly into cold water. He remained stooping with the valence raised.
Ethel appeared in the half doorway and her expression was unfamiliar. He stared at her white face.
"Why on earth did you put my roses here?" he asked.
She stared back at him. Her face reflected his astonishment.
"Why did you put my roses here?" he asked again.
"Your roses!" she cried. "What! Did you send those roses?"
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