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It was only a bunch of tiny meadow
daisies, fastened together with a bit of blue silk. It had fallen,--they
guessed by whom it had been worn,--but neither made any remark, and
both, by some strange instinct, avoided looking at it, as though the
innocent little blossoms carried within them some terrible temptation.
They were conscious of a certain embarrassment, and making an effort to
break through it, Lorimer remarked softly--
"By Jove, Phil, if this old Gueldmar really knew what you are up to, I
believe he would bundle you out of this place like a tramp! Didn't you
feel a sneak when he said we had told the truth like men?"
Philip smiled dreamily. He was seated in one of the quaintly carved
chairs, half absorbed in what was evidently a pleasing reverie.
"No; not exactly," he replied. "Because we _did_ tell him the truth; we
did want to know him, and he's worth knowing too! He is a
magnificent-looking fellow; don't you think so?"
"Rather!" assented Lorimer, with emphasis.


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