"I was so long about it," said the girl gleefully, "that now it's only
two hours and forty minutes to the next refreshment station. I expect I
can keep on living till then if I use all my will power."
"And here's something to make you forget how long two hours and forty
minutes are."
Miss Arden went to the door and, returning, laid suddenly in Anne's arms
a great, fragrant mass of white bloom, at the smell and touch of which
she gave a half-smothered cry of rapture, and buried her face in the
midst of it. "White lilacs--oh, white lilacs! The dears--the loves! Oh,
where _did_ they come from?"
"There's a note that came with them," admitted Miss Arden presently,
when she had let the question go unanswered for some time, while Anne,
seeming to forget that she had asked it, smelled and smelled of the cool
white and green branches as if she could never have enough of them. Into
her eyes had leaped a strange look, as if some memory were connected
with these outdoor flowers which made them different for her from the
hothouse blooms, or even from the daffodils and tulips that had
alternated with the roses which had come often since her convalescence
began.
Anne reached up an eager hand for the note, a look of surprise on her
face. Miss Arden, looking back at her, noted how each day was helping to
remove the pallor and wanness from that face. At the moment, under the
caress of the lilacs and the surprise of the impending note, it was
showing once more a decided touch of its former beauty.
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