He sprang from bed and picked them up.

What could they possibly mean?
They were her roses, certainly--he remembered she wore the dressing-gown that first evening at Dover, when he had gone to her to give her the gardenias.

And they certainly had not been there when at six o'clock he had come in.

He would in that case have seen them against the pale carpet.
For one exquisite moment he thought they were a message and then he noticed the ribbon had been wrenched off and was torn.
No, they were no conscious message, but they did mean that she had been in his room while he slept.
Why had she done this thing?
He knew she hated him--it was no acting--and she had left him the night' before even unusually incensed.
What possible reason could she have, then, for coming into his room?
He felt wild with excitement.

He would see if, as usual, the door between them was locked.