or.

Marie saw the van, divined the mistake, and, being as full of fun as a
kitten, greatly enjoyed the continued humor of it. For still into that
sordid street the flowers poured. Every day, to the unhallowed
surprise of Mr. Cohen and to the equal bewilderment of his offspring,
a box of radiant roses was handed out.

In that surprise and bewilderment the neighborhood joined. Scandalized
at the scandal Cohen questioned the groom, questioned the chauffeur.
He might have saved himself the trouble. Then he inquired at the
florist's. But there no one could be found who knew anything at all
about anything whatever. Already he had questioned Rebecca. It seemed
to him that in spite of her protests she must be engaged in some
fathomless intrigue. But Rebecca, whose commercial instinct was
beautifully developed, not only protested but appeased. She told her
father that the roses were worth money. Furthermore, that which is
worth money can be sold. Thereupon sold they were. But quite as
inexplicably as the van had appeared so did its visits cease. When
that happened Mr. Cohen felt and declared that he was robbed. He had
come to regard the roses as assets.

Marie meanwhile, whom the humor of the situation had amused, ended by
worrying over it. She was a good girl, as such conscientious, and it
troubled her, at first only a little and then very much, to think that
Loftus must believe that she was knowingly accepting his flowers.
Moreover, her father had commented upon them; in commenting he had
wondered. Marie began to fear that Loftus might discover the mistake
and turn in and inundate her. She did not know quite what to do. She
thought of writing to him, very distantly, in the third person, or
else anonymously. But the letter did not seem to get itself framed.
Then, from thinking of that, she fell to thinking of him.

To see him she had only to close her eyes. Once he visited her in
dream. He came accompanied by butterflies that fluttered about her and
changed into kisses on her lips. Again she fancied him much sought
after by ladies and became hotly and unaccountably vexed at the idea.
It would be so lovely to really know him, she always decided. But she
did not see at all how that ever could come about.

Yet, of course, it did come about. It came about, moreover, in a
fashion as sordid as the street she lived in.

That street, though sordid, is relatively silent. It is beyond, in
Sixth avenue, that you get a sample of re