The cheeks of the flowers were greenish with cold.

But still some had burst, and their gold ruffled and glowed.
Miriam went on her knees before one cluster, took a wild-looking daffodil between her hands, turned up its face of gold to her, and bowed down, caressing it with her mouth and cheeks and brow.

He stood aside, with his hands in his pockets, watching her.

One after another she turned up to him the faces of the yellow, bursten flowers appealingly, fondling them lavishly all the while.
"Aren't they magnificent ?" she murmured.
"Magnificent! It's a bit thick--they're pretty!" She bowed again to her flowers at his censure of her praise.

He watched her crouching, sipping the flowers with fervid kisses.
"Why must you always be fondling things ?" he said irritably.
"But I love to touch them," she replied, hurt.
"Can you never like things without clutching them as if you wanted to pull the heart out of them?
Why don't you have a bit more restraint, or reserve, or something ?" She looked up at him full of pain, then continued slowly to stroke her lips against a ruffled flower.