The widow's eyes followed him. "He is a dear boy," she said, with a
motherly glance at the softly closing door.
Then her look changed and she leaned forward and touched the bowl of
forget-me-nots with lightest finger-tip.
"Mine?" she said archly.
"If you would like them," said the millionaire graciously.
"Naughty man!" She shook the finger at him and then pointed it at the
forget-me-nots.
"Who sent them to you?" Her chin tilted the question.
He regarded it gravely. "A woman sent them," he said.
She nodded and the little jets dingled at him.
"This woman?" She placed the finger on her chest and looked at him
reproachfully.
The millionaire's look broke in startled confusion. He glanced swiftly
at the flowers. "Why--yes--of course!... I ought to have thanked you....
But--I have not been well, you know." He smiled whimsically.
She motioned it aside. "I don't mind being thanked--so long as you got
them!" Her eyes travelled about the room. "They are the only ones you
have!" she said reflectively.
The millionaire's glance followed hers.
"There were--others," he said vaguely.
"But you have not kept them!" She leaned forward.
"No." He admitted it.
"These are the only ones--" she paused, looking at them pensively. "You
don't know how happy you make me!" she said--and sighed it away.
"I am glad to have pleased you," responded the millionaire feebly.
"You don't know--" she touched the flowers as if they were something
precious that must not be disturbed. "You--don't know how happy--you
make me!"
The millionaire glanced uneasily about.
The door opened and Julian flashed in. "I say! I couldn't find your bag,
you know!"
"Never mind!" She was sweet with it. "Perhaps I didn't bring it, after
all."
"You don't think it is possibly--in your chair," he suggested, smiling a
little.
He had come over and was standing quite close to her.