in the room, though spoken in Miss Chaine's usual quiet tones. It
might have been an accident that she walked over some of the spilled
roses as she left the room, but certainly she could not have shown her
mind more plainly than by leaving every single one behind her. Roddy
only, with a pleased and secret look upon his face, carried three of
them away in a treasured manner.

Whatever Saltire's feelings were at the affront put upon him, he gave
no sign. He was not one who wore his emotions where they could be read
by all who ran, or even by those who sat and openly studied him with
malice and amusement. His face was as serene as usual, and his envied
gift of turning events of the monotonous everyday veld life into
interesting topics of conversation remained unimpaired. He had even
risen, as always, with his air of careless courtesy, to open the door
for the woman who walked over his flowers.

The fact remained, as the manager said to the foreman after lunch, that
he had certainly "caught it in the neck," and must have felt it
somewhere. Perhaps he did. Perhaps he merely congratulated himself
that the little scene when he had given the roses to Miss Chaine had
been lost by everyone except the children, who were too young and
self-engrossed to value its subtlety.

Either by accident or design, he had come to lunch a little earlier
than usual, and as Miss Chaine and the children were always in their
seats a good ten minutes before the rest of the party, it was quite
simple for him, entering quietly and before she even knew of his
presence, to lay the bunch of fragrant roses across her hands. A sweep
of heavy delicious perfume rose to her face, and she gave a little
rapturous "Oh!"

"I thought you might like them," said Saltire, with a sort of boyish
diffidence that was odd in him. "They are just the colour of the dress
you wore last night."

In an instant, her face froze. She looked at him, with eyes from which
every vestige of friendliness or liking had completely disappeared, and
said politely, but with the utmost disdain:

"Thank you, I do not care for them. Pray give them where they will be
appreciated."

She pulled her hands from under the lovely blooms and pushed them away
as if there were something contaminating in their touch. Some fell on
the table, some on the floor. For a moment, Saltire seemed utterly
taken aback, then he said carelessly:

"Throw them away if you like. They were meant fo