MR. KENDRICK ENTERTAINS
On their way downstairs, Matthew Kendrick and his grandson, escorted by
Louis Gray, encountered a small company of people apparently just
arrived from a train. Louis stopped for a moment to greet them, turned
them over to his brother Stephen, whom he signalled from a stair-landing
above, and went on down to the entrance-hall with the Kendricks.
"Too bad they're late for the party," he observed. "They had written
they couldn't come, I believe. Mother will have to do a bit of figuring
to dispose of them. But the more the merrier under this roof, every
time."
"It's rather late to be putting people up for the night," Richard
observed. "Your mother will be sending some of them to a hotel, I
imagine. Couldn't we"--he glanced at his grandfather--"have the pleasure
of taking them in our car? or of sending it back for them, if there are
too many?"
"Thank you, but I've no doubt mother can arrange--" Louis Gray began,
when old Matthew Kendrick interrupted him:
"We can do better than that, Dick," said he. He turned to Louis. "We
will wait," said he, "while you present my compliments to your mother
and say that it will give me great satisfaction if she will allow me to
entertain an overflow party of her guests."
Hardly able to believe his ears, Richard stared at his grandfather. What
had come over him, who had lived in such seclusion for so many years,
that he should be offering hospitality at midnight to total strangers?
He smiled to himself. But the next moment a thought struck him.
"Grandfather," he said hurriedly, "why not specially invite that
delightful couple--the one they call 'Uncle Rufus' and his wife?"
"An excellent idea," Mr. Kendrick agreed, "though they might not be
willing to make the change at so late an hour."
"People who were dancing with spirit ten minutes ago will be ready to
travel right now," prophesied Richard. He took flying leaps up the
stairs in pursuit of Louis. Catching him on the next floor, he made his
request known. Louis received it without sign of surprise, but inwardly,
as he hurried away, he was speculating upon what agencies could be at
work with the young man, that he should be so eager to do this deed of
extraordinary friendliness.
Mrs. Gray hesitated over Matthew Kendrick's invitation, although her
hospitable home was already crowded to the roof-tree. But, taking Judge
Calvin Gray into her counsels, she was so strongly advised by him to
accept the offer that she somewhat reluctantly consented to do so.
"It's great, Eleanor, simply great!" he urged. "It will do my friend
Matthew mere good than anything that has happened to him in a
twelvemonth. As for young Richard--from what I've seen to-night you've
nothing to fear from his part in the affair. Let them have Rufus and
Ruth--they'll enjoy it hugely. And give them as many more as will
relieve the congestion. Matthew could take care of a regiment in that
stone barracks of his."
"Sending Rufus and Ruth would give me quite space enough," she declared.
"Rufus has the largest room in the house, and I could put this last
party there. It is really very kind of Mr. Kendrick, and I shall be glad
to solve my problem in that way, since you think it best."
Mr. and Mrs. Rufus Gray, having the question put to them, acceded to it
with readiness. Both had been warmly drawn toward Richard, and though
his grandfather had seemed to them a figure of somewhat unnecessarily
dignified reserve, the mere fact of his extending the invitation at all
was to them sufficient proof of his cordiality.
"It's nothing at all to pack up," Mrs. Rufus asserted. "I'll just take
what I need for the night, and we'll be coming over for the tree in the
morning, so I can get my other things then. I shall call it a real treat
to be inside the home of such a wealthy man. How lonely he must be,
living in such a great house, with only his grandson!"
So Aunt Ruth descended the stairs, wearing her little gray silk bonnet
and a heavy cape of gray cloth, her hand on her husband's arm, her
bright eyes shining with anticipation. Aunt Ruth dearly loved a bit of
excitement and seldom found much in her quiet life upon the farm. As
Matthew Kendrick looked up and saw her coming slowly down, her husband
carefully adjusting himself to the dip and swing of her step as she put
always the same foot foremost, he found himself distinctly glad of his
grandson's suggestion, since it gave him so charming a guest to
entertain as Mrs. Rufus Gray.
In the interval Richard had retired to a telephone, and had made the
wires between his present position and the stone pile warm with his
orders. In consequence a certain gray-haired housekeeper, lately
returned from some family festivities of her own and about to retire,
found herself galvanized into activity by the sound of a well-known and
slightly imperious voice issuing upsetting instructions to have the best
suite of rooms in the house made ready within half an hour for
occupancy, and the house itself lighted for the reception of the guests.
Other commands to butler and Mr. Richard's own manservant followed in
quick succession, and when the young man turned away from the telephone
he was again smiling to himself at thought of the consternation he was
causing in a household accustomed to be run upon such lines of
conservatism and well defined routine that any deviation therefrom was
likely to prove most unacceptable. He himself was at home there such a
small portion of his time, and during the periods he spent there was so
careful never to bring within its walls any festival-making of his own,
he knew just how astonishing to the middle-aged housekeeper, the
solemn-faced old butler, and the rest of them, would be these midnight
orders. He was enjoying the giving of such orders all the more for that!
Old Matthew Kendrick assisted Mrs. Rufus Gray into his luxuriously
fitted, electric-lighted town-car as if she had been a royal personage,
wrapping about her soft, thick rugs until she was almost lost to view.
"Why, I couldn't be cold in this shut-in place," she protested. "Not a
breath could touch any one in here, I should say."
"I should call it pretty snug," Rufus Gray agreed with his wife, looking
about him at the comfortable appointments of the car. "But there's just
one thing a carriage like this wouldn't be good for, and that's taking a
party of young folks on a sleigh ride, on a snapping winter's night!"
His bright brown eyes regarded those of Matthew Kendrick with some
curiosity. "I reckon you never took that sort of a ride, when you were a
boy?" he queried.
"Yes, yes, I have--many a time," Mr. Kendrick insisted. "And great times
we had. Boys and girls needed no electricity to keep them comfortable on
the coldest of nights. It's my grandson Richard who feels this sort of
thing a necessity. Until he came home a carriage and pair had been all
the equipage I needed."
"Grandfather is getting where a little extra warmth on a blustering
winter's day is essential to his comfort," Richard declared, feeling a
curious necessity, somehow, to justify the use of the expensive and
commodious equipage in the eyes of the country gentleman who seemed to
regard it so lightly.
"It's very nice," Mrs. Gray said quickly. "I should hardly know I was
outdoors at all. And how smoothly it runs along over the streets. The
young man out there in front must be a very good driver, I should think.
He doesn't seem to mind the car-tracks at all."
"No, Rogers doesn't bother much about car-tracks," Richard agreed
gravely. "His idea is to get home and to bed."
"It is pretty late--and I'm afraid waiting for us has made you a good
deal later than you would have been," said Mrs. Gray regretfully.
"Not a bit--no, no."
"We'll go right to our room as soon as we get there," said she, "and you
mustn't trouble to do a thing extra for us."
"It's going to be a great pleasure to have you under our roof," the
young man assured her, smiling.
Arrived at the great stone mansion which was the well-known residence of
Matthew Kendrick, as it had been of his family for several generations,
Richard stared up at it with a sense of strangeness. Except for the
halls and dining-room, his grandfather's quarters and his own, he could
not remember seeing it lighted as other homes were lighted, with rows of
gleaming windows here and there, denoting occupancy by many people. Now,
one whole wing, where lay the special suite of guest-rooms used at long
intervals for particularly distinguished persons, was brilliantly
shining out upon the December night.
The car drew up beneath a massive covered entrance-porch, and a great
door swung back. A heavy-eyed, elderly butler admitted the party, which
were ushered into an impressive but gloomy and inhospitable looking
reception-room. Matthew Kendrick glanced somewhat uncertainly at his
nephew, who promptly took things in charge.
"I thought perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Gray would have some sandwiches
and--er--something more--with us, before they go to their rooms,"
Richard suggested, nodding at Parks, the heavy-eyed.
"Yes, yes--" agreed Mr. Kendrick, but Mrs. Rufus broke in upon him.
"Oh, no, Mr. Kendrick!" she cried softly, much distressed. "Please don't
think of such a thing--at this hour. And we've just had refreshments at
Eleanor's. Don't let us keep you up a minute. I'm sure you must be tired
after this long evening."
"Not at all, Madam. Nor do you yourself look so," responded Matthew
Kendrick, in his somewhat stately manner. "But you may be feeling like
sleep, none the less. If you prefer you shall go to your rest at once."
He turned to his grandson again. "Dick--"
"I'll take them up," said that young man, eagerly. He offered his arm to
Aunt Ruth.
Uncle Rufus looked about him for the hand-bag which his wife had so
hurriedly packed. "We had a little grip--" said he, uncertainly.
"We'll find it upstairs, I think," Richard assured him, and led the way
with Aunt Ruth. "I'm sorry we have no lift," he said to her, "but the
stairs are rather easy, and we'll take them slowly."
Aunt Ruth puzzled a little over this speech, but made nothing of it and
wisely let it go. The stairs were easy, extremely easy, and so heavily
padded that she seemed to herself merely to be walking up a slight,
velvet-floored incline. The whole house, it may be explained, was fitted
and furnished after the style of that period in the latter half of the
last century, when heavily carpeted floors, heavily shrouded windows,
heavily decorated walls, and heavily upholstered chairs were considered
the essentials of luxury and comfort. Old Matthew Kendrick had never
cared to make any changes, and his grandson had had too little interest
in the place to recommend them. The younger man's own private rooms he
had altered sufficiently to express his personal tastes, but the rest of
the house was to him outside the range of his concern. The whole place,
including his own quarters, was to him merely a sort of temporary
habitation. He had no plans in relation to it, no sense of
responsibility in regard to it. When he had ordered the finest suite of
rooms in the house to be put in readiness for the guests, it was
precisely as he would have requested the management of a great hotel to
place at his disposal the best they had to offer. To tell the truth, he
had no recollection at all of how the rooms looked or what their
dimensions were.
Mr. and Mrs. Rufus Gray, entering the first room of the series, a large
and elaborately furnished apartment with the effect of a drawing-room,
much gilt and brocade and many mirrors in evidence, looked at Richard in
some surprise, as he seated them. He himself went to the door of a
second room, glanced in, nodded, and returned to his guests.
"I hope you will find everything you want in there," he said. "If you
don't, please ring. You will see your dressing-room on the left, Mr.
Gray. I will send you my man in the morning to see if he can do anything
for you."
"I shan't need any man, thank you," protested Mr. Gray.
When, after lingering a minute or two, their young host had bade them
good-night and left them, the elderly pair looked at each other. Uncle
Rufus's eyes were twinkling, but in his wife's showed a touch of soft
indignation.
"It seems like making a joke of us," said she, "to put us in such a
place as this, when he can guess what we're used to."
"He doesn't mean it as a joke," her husband protested good-humouredly.
"He wants to give us the best he's got. I don't mind a mite. To be sure,
I could get along with one looking-glass to shave myself in, but it's
kind of interesting to know how many some folks think necessary when
they aren't limited. Let's go look in our sleeping-room. Maybe that's a
little less princely."
Aunt Ruth limped slowly across the Persian carpet, and stood still in
the doorway of the room Richard had designated as hers. Uncle Rufus
stared in over her small shoulder.
"Well, well," he chuckled. "I reckon Napoleon Bonaparte wouldn't have
thought this any too fine for him, but it sort of dazzles me. I'm glad
somebody's got that bed ready to sleep in. I shouldn't have been sure
'twas meant for that, if they hadn't. There seems to be another room on
behind this one--what's that?"
He marched across and looked in. "Now, if I was rich, I wouldn't mind
having one of these opening right out of my room. What there isn't in
here for keeping yourself clean can't be thought of."
"Rufus," said his wife solemnly, following him into the white-tiled
bathroom, "I want you should look at these bath-towels. I never in my
life set eyes on anything like them. They must have cost--I don't know
what they cost--I didn't know there were such bath-towels made!"
"I don't want to wrap myself in a blanket," asserted her husband. "I
want to know I've got a towel in my hand, that I can whisk round me and
slap myself with. Look here, let's get to bed. We could sit up all night
examining round into our accommodations. For my part, Eleanor's style of
living suits me a good deal better than this kind of elegance. Her house
is fine and comfortable, but no foolishness. There's one thing I do
like, though. This carpet feels mighty good to your bare feet, I'll make
sure!"
He presently made sure, walking back and forth barefooted across the
soft floor, chuckling like a boy, and making his toes sink into the
heavy pile of the great rug. He surveyed his small wife, in her
dressing-gown, sitting before the wide mirror of an elaborate
dressing-table, putting her white locks into crimping pins.
"Ruth," said he, with sudden solemnity, "I forgot to undress in my
dressing-room. Had I better put my clothes on and go take 'em off again
in there?"
He pointed across to an adjoining room, brilliant with lights and
equipped with all manner of furnishings adapted to masculine uses.
His wife turned about, laughing like a girl. "Maybe in there," she
suggested, "you could find a chair small enough to hang your coat across
the back of. I'm afraid it'll get all wrinkled, folded like that."
Uncle Rufus explored. After a minute he came back. "There's a queer sort
of bureau-thing in there all filled with coat-and-pants hangers," he
announced. "I'm going to put my things in it. It'll keep 'em from
getting wrinkled, as you say."
When he returned: "There's another bed in there," he said. "I don't know
what it's for. It's got the covers all turned back, too, just like this
one. Maybe we've made a mistake. Maybe there's somebody that has that
room, and he hasn't come in yet. Do you suppose I'd better shut the door
between?"
"Maybe you had," agreed his wife anxiously. "It would be dreadful if he
should come in after a while. Still--young Mr. Kendrick called it your
dressing-room."
"And my clothes are in there," added Uncle Rufus. "It's all right.
Probably the girl made a mistake when she fixed that bed--thought there
was a child with us, maybe."
"You might just shut the door," Aunt Ruth suggested. "Then if anybody
did come in--"
Uncle Rufus shook his head. "It's meant for us," he asserted with
conviction as he climbed into bed. "He said 'dressing-room' and pointed.
The girl's made a mistake, that's all. It's a good place for my clothes,
and I'm going to leave 'em there. Will you put out the lights?"
Aunt Ruth looked around the wall. "I can never get used to electric
lights at Eleanor's," said she. "And I don't see the place here, at
all."
She searched for the switches some time in vain, but at length
discovered them and succeeded in extinguishing the lights of the room
the pair were in. But the lights of the adjoining rooms still burned
with brilliancy.
"Oh, dear!" she sighed softly. Then she appealed to her husband.
Uncle Rufus, who had nearly fallen asleep while his wife had been
searching, spoke without opening his eyes. "Shut all the doors and leave
'em going," he advised,
"Oh, no, I can't do that! Think of the cost, running all night so."
"I reckon they can afford it," he commented drowsily.
But Aunt Ruth continued to hunt, first in the large outer room which
looked like a drawing-room, and possessed an elaborate central
electrolier whose control, even after she discovered the switch, caused
the little lady considerable perplexity. When she had at length
succeeded in extinguishing the illumination she returned, guided by the
lights in the other rooms. The bathroom keys were soon found, and then
she applied herself to discovering those in the dressing-room. These
eluded her for some minutes, but at length, all lights being turned off,
Aunt Ruth found herself in total darkness. She groped about in it for
some time without success, for the heavy curtains had been closely
drawn, and not a ray of light penetrated the spacious rooms from any
quarter. After having followed the wall for what seemed an interminable
distance without reaching a recognizable position, she was forced to
call to her husband. He was asleep, and responded only after being many
times addressed. Then he sat up in bed.
"Hey? What? What's the matter?" he inquired anxiously, peering into the
darkness.
"Nothing, dear--only I couldn't find the bed after I turned the lights
out. Keep on talking, and I'll work my way to you," answered his wife's
voice from some distance.
Guided by his voice--he found plenty to say on the subject of putting
people to bed in the midst of large, unfamiliar spaces--she groped her
way to his side. He put out a gentle hand to welcome her, and as she
took her place the two fell to laughing softly over the whole situation.
"Why," said Uncle Rufus, "for all I've slept for forty years in the same
room--and a pretty sizable room I've always thought it--I've never got
so I could plough a straight furrow through it in the dark. I reckon a
lifetime would be too short to get to know my way round this
plantation."
He could with difficulty be restrained from telling Richard about the
incident next morning, when that young man came to their rooms to escort
them down to breakfast.
"I'm glad to have somebody pilot me," Uncle Rufus declared, his eyes
twinkling as he followed after his wife, who leaned on Richard's arm. "A
man must have a pretty good sense of direction to keep his bearings in a
house as big as this."
Richard laughed. "It's rather a straight road to the dining-room. I
think I must have worn a path there since I came. Here we are--and
here's grandfather down before us. He's the first one in the house to be
up, always."
Matthew Kendrick advanced to meet his guests, shaking hands with great
cordiality.
"It seems very wonderful, Madam Gray," said he, "to have a lady in the
house on Christmas morning. Will you do me the honour to take this
seat?" He put her in a chair before a massive silver urn, under which
burned a spirit lamp. "And will you pour our coffee? It's many a year
since we've had coffee served from the table, poured by a woman's hand."
"Why, I should be greatly pleased to pour the coffee," cried Aunt Ruth
happily. Her bright glance was fastened upon a mass of scarlet flowers
in the centre of the table, for which Richard had sent between dark and
daylight. He smiled across the table at her.
"Are they real?" she breathed.
"Absolutely! Splendid colour, aren't they? I can't remember the name,
but they look like Christmas."
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Rufus Gray had ever in their lives eaten such a
breakfast as was now served to them. Such extraordinary fruits, such
perfectly cooked game, such delicious food of various sorts--they could
only taste and wonder. Richard, with a young man's healthy appetite,
kept them company, but his grandfather made a frugal meal of toast,
coffee, and a single egg, quite as if he were more accustomed to such
simple fare than to any other.
The breakfast over, Mr. Kendrick took them to his own private rooms, to
show them a painting of which he had been telling them. Richard
accompanied them, having constituted himself chief assistant to Mrs.
Gray, to whom he had taken a boyish liking which was steadily growing.
Establishing her in a comfortable armchair, he sat down beside her.
"Now, Mr. Richard," said she, presently, while Mr. Matthew Kendrick and
her husband were discussing an interesting question over their cigars in
an adjoining room--Mr. Kendrick's adherence to the code of an earlier
day making it impossible for him to think of smoking in the presence of
a lady--"I wonder if there isn't something you would let me do for you.
You and your grandfather living alone, so, you must have things that
need a woman's hand. While I sit here I'd enjoy mending some socks or
gloves for you."
Richard looked at her. The sincerity of her offer was so evident that he
could not turn it aside with an evasion or a refusal. But he had not an
article in the world that needed mending. When things of his reached
that stage they were invariably turned over to his man, Bliss. He
considered.
"That's certainly awfully kind of you, Mrs. Gray," said he. "But--have
you--"
She put her hand into a capacious pocket and produced therefrom a tiny
"housewife," stocked with thimble, needles, and all necessary
implements.
"I never go without it," said she. "There's always somebody to be mended
up when you least expect it. My niece Roberta tripped on one of her
flounces last night, dancing--and not being used to dancing in such
full, old-fashioned skirts. Rosy was starting to pin it up, but I
whipped out my kit--and how they laughed, to see a pocket in a best
dress!" She laughed herself, at the recollection. "But I had Robby sewed
up in less time than it takes to tell it--much better than pinning!"
"How beautifully she danced those old-fashioned dances," Richard
observed eagerly. "It was a great pleasure to see her."
"Yes, it's generally a pleasure to see Robby do things," Roberta's aunt
agreed. "She goes into them with so much vim. When she comes out to
visit us on the farm it's the same way. She must have a hand in the
churning, or the sweeping, or something that'll keep her busy. Aren't
you going to get me the things, Mr. Richard?"
The young man hastened away. Arrived before certain drawers and
receptacles, he turned over piles of hosiery with a thoughtful air.
Presently selecting a pair of black silk socks of particularly fine
texture, he deliberately forced his thumb through either heel, taking
care to make the edges rough as possible. Laughing to himself, he then
selected a pair of gray street gloves, eyed them speculatively for a
moment, then, taking out a penknife, cut the stitches in several places,
making one particularly long rent down the side of the left thumb. He
regarded these damages doubtfully, wondering if they looked entirely
natural and accidental; then, shaking his head, he gathered up the socks
and gloves and returned with them to Aunt Ruth.
She looked them over. "For pity's sake," said she, "you wear out your
things in queer ways! How did you ever manage to get holes in your heels
right on the bottom, like that? All the folks I ever knew wear out their
heels on the back or side."
Richard examined a sock. "That is rather odd," he admitted. "I must have
done it dancing."
"I shall have to split my silk to darn these places," commented Aunt
Ruth. "These must be summer socks, so thin as this." She glanced at the
trimly shod foot of her companion and shook her head. "You young folks!
In my day we never thought silk cobwebs' warm enough for winter."
"Tell me about your day, won't you, please?" the young man urged. "Those
must have been great days, to have produced such results."
The little lady found it impossible to resist such interest, and was
presently talking away, as she mended, while her listener watched her
flying fingers and enjoyed every word of her entertaining discourse. He
artfully led her from the past to the present, brought out a tale or two
of Roberta's visits at the farm, and learned with outward gravity but
inward exultation that that young person had actually gone to the
lengths of begging to be allowed to learn to milk a cow, but had failed
to achieve success.
"I can't imagine Miss Roberta's failing in anything she chose to
attempt," was his joyous comment.
"She certainly failed in that." Aunt Ruth seemed rather pleased herself
at the thought. "But then she didn't really go into it seriously--it was
because Louis put her up to it--told her she couldn't do it. She only
really tried it once--and then spent the rest of the morning washing her
hair. Such a task--it's so heavy and curly--" Aunt Ruth suddenly stopped
talking about Roberta, as if it had occurred to her that this young man
looked altogether too interested in such trifles as the dressing of
certain thick, dark locks.
Presently, the mending over, the Grays were taken, according to promise,
back to the Christmas celebrations in the other house, and Richard,
returning to his grandfather, proposed, with some unwonted diffidence of
manner, that the two attend service together at St. Luke's.
The old man looked up at his grandson, astonishment in his face.
"Church, Dick--with you?" he repeated. "Why, I--" He hesitated. "Did the
little lady we entertained last night put that into your head?"
"She put several things into my head," Richard admitted, "but not that.
Will you go, sir? It's fully time now, I believe."
Matthew Kendrick's keen eyes continued to search his grandson's face, to
Richard's inner confusion. Outwardly, the younger man maintained an
attitude of dignified questioning.
"I am willing to go," said Mr. Kendrick, after a moment.
At St. Luke's, that morning, from her place in the family pew, Ruth
Gray, remembering a certain promise, looked about her as searchingly as
was possible. Nowhere within her line of vision could she discern the
figure of Richard Kendrick, but she was none the less confident that
somewhere within the stately walls of the old church he was taking part
in the impressive Christmas service. When it ended and she turned to
make her way up the aisle, leading a bevy of young cousins, her eyes,
beneath a sheltering hat-brim, darted here and there until, unexpectedly
near-by, they encountered the half-amused but wholly respectful
recognition of those they sought. As Ruth made her slow progress toward
the door she was aware that the Kendricks, elder and younger, were close
behind her, and just before the open air was reached she was able to
exchange with Richard a low-spoken question and answer.
"Wasn't it beautiful? Aren't you glad you came?"
"It _was_ beautiful, Miss Ruth--and I'm more than glad I came."
* * * * *
Several hours earlier, on that same Christmas morning, Ruth had rushed
into Roberta's room, crying out happily:
"Flowers--flowers--flowers! For you and Rosy and mother and me! They
just came. Mr. Richard Loring Kendrick's card is in ours; of course it's
in yours. Here are yours; do open the box and let me see! Mother's are
orchids, perfectly wonderful ones. Rosy's are mignonette, great
clusters, a whole armful--I didn't know florists grew such
richness--they smell like the summer kind. She's so pleased. Mine are
violets and lilies-of-the-valley. I'm perfectly crazy over them.
Yours--"
Roberta had the cover off. Roses! Somehow she had known they would be
roses--after last night. But such roses!
Ruth cried out in ecstasy, bending to bury her face in the glorious
mass. "They're exactly the colour of the old brocade frock, Robby," she
exulted. She picked up the card in its envelope. "May I look at it?" she
asked, with her fingers already in the flap. "Ours all have some
Christmas wish on, and Rosy's adds something about Gordon and Dorothy."
"You might just let me see first," said Roberta carelessly, stretching
out her hand for the card. Ruth handed it over. Roberta turned her head.
"Who's calling?" she murmured, and ran to the door, card in hand.
"I didn't hear any one," Ruth called after her.
But Roberta disappeared. Around the turn of the hall she scanned her
card.
"_Thorns to the thorny_," she read, and stood staring at the unexpected
words written in a firm, masculine hand. That was all. Did it sting?
Yet, curiously enough, Roberta rather liked that odd message.
When she came back, Ruth, in the excitement of examining many other
Christmas offerings, had rushed on, leaving the box of roses on
Roberta's bed. The recipient took out a single rose and examined its
stem. Thorns! She had never seen sharper ones--and not one had been
removed. But the rose itself was perfection.