Can a man
shake hands like that with a woman, she wondered, if he is
broken-hearted because she has refused him?
"Now we must go," she said. "I--shouldn't like to be late for my
appointment."
"You shan't be late," he assured her, cheerfully. Then, just as they
were moving away from the table, he stopped. "Will you give me one of
those roses," he asked, "to keep for a souvenir?"
Their waiter had adorned the little feast with a glass containing a few
short-stemmed roses. Mary selected the prettiest, a white one just
unfolding from the bud, and gave it to Captain Hannaford. So quickly
that no one saw, he laid it against her faintly smiling lips, then hid
it inside his coat.
When the taxi had rushed up the upper Corniche and had taken the
carriage road to Roquebrune, Mary said goodbye to Hannaford in the
_Place_ under the great wall of the old castle. She guessed that,
perhaps, he would have liked an invitation to go with her to the cure's
garden, which he had never seen. But she did not give the invitation.
She even lingered, so that he must have seen she wished him to drive
away; and he took the hint, if it were a hint, at once.
"Goodbye," he said, pleasantly. "Thank you a thousand times, for
everything."
"But it's I who have to thank you!" she protested.
"If I could think you would ever feel like thanking me for anything, I
should be glad."
He released her hand, after pressing it once very hard; got into the
taxi, gave the chauffeur the name of his hotel in the Condamine, and was
whirled away.
Pages:
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360