Once on his way through Piccadilly Circus
he had paused by the fountain to glance at a great basket of lilies
of the valley, struck suddenly by the thought how strangely their
little pale petals seemed suggestive of her.
"'Ere y' are, honey. Her favourite flower!" cried the girl, with a
grin, holding a bunch towards him.
"How much?" he had asked, vainly trying to keep the blood from
rushing to his face.
The girl paused a moment, a coarse, kindly creature.
"Sixpence," she demanded; and he bought them. She had meant to ask
him a shilling, and knew he would have paid it. "Same as silly
fool!" she called herself as she pocketed the money.
He gave them to her with a fine lordly air, and watched her while
she pinned them to her blouse, and a squirrel halting in the middle
of the walk watched her also with his head on one side, wondering
what was the good of them that she should store them with so much
care. She did not thank him in words, but there were tears in her
eyes when she turned her face to his, and one of the little fawn
gloves stole out and sought his hand. He took it in both his, and
would have held it, but she withdrew it almost hurriedly.
They appealed to him, her gloves, in spite of their being old and
much mended; and he was glad they were of kid.
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