There was too great a turmoil within her, begotten by the strain of her visit on Miss Sherwood and these unexpected meetings, for any motive, impulse, or decision to emerge to even a brief supremacy.

And so, during this period when her brain would not operate, she let herself be swept on by the momentum of the forces which had previously determined her direction--her pride, her self-confidence, her ambition, the alliance of fortune between her and Barney and Old Jimmie.
They were sitting in this silence when footsteps again sounded on the gravel, and a shadow blotted the arbor floor.
"Excuse me, Larry," said a man's voice.
"Sure.

What is it, Joe ?" Before her Maggie saw the tall, thin man in overalls, his removed broad-brimmed hat revealing his white hair, whom she had noticed a little earlier working among the flowers.

He held a bunch of the choicest pickings from the abundant rose gardens, their stems bound in maple leaves as temporary protection against their thorns.

He was gazing at Maggie, respectful, hungry admiration in his somber eyes.
"I thought perhaps the young lady might care for these." He held out the roses to her.