CHAPTER XXVIII
THE COMING OF THE ROSES
And the roses miscarried!
When Lewisham returned from Vigours' it was already nearly seven. He entered the house with a beating heart. He had expected to find Ethel excited, the roses displayed. But her face was white and jaded. He was so surprised by this that the greeting upon his lips died away. He was balked! He went into the sitting-room and there were no roses to be seen. Ethel came past him and stood with her back to him looking out of the window. The suspense was suddenly painful. . . .
He was obliged to ask, though he was certain of the answer, "Has nothing come?"
Ethel looked at him. "What did you think had come?"
"Oh! nothing."
She looked out of the window again. "No," she said slowly, "nothing has come."
He tried to think of something to say that might bridge the distance between them, but he could think of nothing. He must wait until the roses came. He took out his books and a gaunt hour passed to supper time. Supper was a chilly ceremonial set with necessary over-polite remarks. Disappointment and exasperation darkened Lewisham's soul. He began to feel angry with everything—even with her—he
474
