"Anna," said Professor Hardage that same morning, coming out of his
library into the side porch where Miss Anna, sitting in a green
chair and wearing a pink apron and holding a yellow bowl with a
blue border, was seeding scarlet cherries for a brown roll, "see
what somebody has sent _me_." He held up a many-colored bouquet
tied with a brilliant ribbon; to the ribbon was pinned an
old-fashioned card.
"Ah, now, that is what comes of your being at the ball," said Miss
Anna, delighted and brimming with pride. "Somebody fell in love
with you. I told you you looked handsome that night," and she
beckoned impatiently for the bouquet.
He surrendered it with a dubious look. She did not consider the
little tumulus of Flora, but devoured the name of the builder. Her
face turned crimson; and leaning over to one side, she dropped the
bouquet into the basket for cherry seed. Then she continued her
dutiful pastime, her head bent so low that he could see nothing but
the part dividing the soft brown hair of her fine head.