Fear came into my
heart and much perplexity.
"The--er--Roses," I said. I felt like a drowning man. "Those
roses--don't you think they are--very beautiful flowers?"
"Aren't they!" she agreed gently. "There seems to be something in
roses--something--I don't know how to express it."
"Something," I said helpfully.
"Yes," she said, "something. Isn't there?"
"So few people see it," I said; "more's the pity!"
She sighed and said again very softly, "Yes."...
There was another long pause. I looked at her and she was thinking
dreamily. The drowning sensation returned, the fear and enfeeblement. I
perceived by a sort of inspiration that her tea-cup was empty.
"Let me take your cup," I said abruptly, and, that secured, made for the
table by the summer-house. I had no intention then of deserting my
aunt. But close at hand the big French window of the drawing-room
yawned inviting and suggestive. I can feel all that temptation now, and
particularly the provocation of my collar. In an instant I was lost. I
would--Just for a moment!
I dashed in, put down the cup on the keys of the grand piano and fled
upstairs, softly, swiftly, three steps at a time, to the sanctuary of my
uncle's study, his snuggery.
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