The girl, with no excuse for lingering,
reluctantly gathered up her broom and dustpan, and departed. When she
was gone, and not till then, Miss Weir investigated the parcel.
Roses--two dozen long-stemmed La Frances--filled the room with their
delicate odor when she removed the pasteboard cover. And set edgewise
among the stems she found his card. Miss Weir turned up her small nose.
"I wonder if he sends these as a sort of peace offering?" she snorted.
"I wonder if a few hours of reflection has made him realize just how
exceedingly caddish he acted? Well, Mr. Bush, I'll return your
unwelcome gift--though they are beautiful flowers."
And she did forthwith, squandering forty cents on a messenger boy to
deliver them to Mr. Bush at his office. She wished him to labor under
no misapprehension as to her attitude.
The next day--Sunday--she spent with Jack Barrow on a visit to his
cousin in a near-by town. They parted, as was their custom, at the
door. It was still early in the evening--eight-thirty, or
thereabout--and Hazel went into the parlor on the first floor. Mr.
Stout and one of her boarders sat there chatting, and at Hazel's
entrance the landlady greeted her with a startling bit of news:
"Evenin', Miss Weir.
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