In the early morning I wondered what I should do. A
commonplace message, written or telephoned, would be inept. I
shrank from touching her, although I knew she would feel my touch
to be gentle. You have seen, I hope, that Betty was dearer to me
than anyone else in the world, and I knew that, apart from the
stirring emotions in her own young life, Betty held me in the
closest affection. When she needed me, she would fly the signal.
Of that I felt assured. Still...
While I was in this state of perplexity, Marigold came in to rouse
me and get me ready for the day.
"I've taken the liberty, sir," said he, "to telephone to Telford
Lodge to enquire after Mrs. Connor. The maid said she had Mrs.
Connor's instructions to reply that she was quite well."
The good, admirable fellow! I thanked him. While I was shaving, he
said in his usual wooden way:
"Begging your pardon, sir, I thought you might like to send Mrs.
Connor a few flowers, so I took upon myself to cut some roses,
first thing this morning, with the dew on them."
Of course I cut myself and the blood flowed profusely.
"Why the dickens do you spring things like that on people while
they're shaving?" I cried.
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