As he passed along the path under the verandah where she stood, she took one of the half-faded roses from her belt and flung it at him.

He caught it and with mock gallantry pressed it to his heart; but as he turned through the wicket and along the footpath which led to his home close by, he continued twirling the flower in his fingers.

Once it dropped, and without thinking he stooped, and picked it up.

He carried it into the house with him, and into his own room, where he laid it down upon his writing-table and forgot it.
Meanwhile, Margery had fastened doors and windows at the cottage, and soon all was silent and dark, except the glimmer of Mrs.Costello's lamp which often burned far into the night.

Lucia had been long asleep when her mother stole into her room for that last look which it was her habit to take before she lay down.