"
"Well, then you've worked enough. And so
have I. I've seen all my men, my packing is done,
and I go up to Liverpool this evening.
But this morning we are going to have
a holiday. What do you say to a drive out to
Kew and Richmond? You may not get another
day like this all winter. It's like a fine
April day at home. May I use your telephone?
I want to order the carriage."
"Oh, how jolly! There, sit down at the desk.
And while you are telephoning I'll change my dress.
I shan't be long. All the morning papers are on the table."
Hilda was back in a few moments wearing a
long gray squirrel coat and a broad fur hat.
Bartley rose and inspected her. "Why don't
you wear some of those pink roses?" he asked.
"But they came only this morning,
and they have not even begun to open.
I was saving them. I am so unconsciously thrifty!"
She laughed as she looked about the room.
"You've been sending me far too many flowers,
Bartley. New ones every day. That's too often;
though I do love to open the boxes, and I take good care of them."
"Why won't you let me send you any of those jade
or ivory things you are so fond of? Or pictures?
I know a good deal about pictures."
Hilda shook her large hat as she drew
the roses out of the tall glass. "No, there are
some things you can't do. There's the carriage.
Will you button my gloves for me?"
Bartley took her wrist and began to
button the long gray suede glove.
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