to water his flower-pot as the day for his return drew near.
Once, indeed, when I rang for water, I could not for the life of me
remember what I wanted it for when it was brought. Had I had any
forethought I should have left the tumbler stand just as it was to show
it to Gilray on his return. But, unfortunately, William John had
misunderstood what I wanted the water for, and put a decanter down
beside it. Another time I was actually on the stair rushing to
Gilray's door, when I met the housekeeper, and, stopping to talk to
her, lost my opportunity again. To show how honestly anxious I was to
fulfil my promise, I need only add that I was several times awakened in
the watches of the night by a haunting consciousness that I had
forgotten to water Gilray's flower-pot. On these occasions I spared no
trouble to remember again in the morning. I reached out of bed to a
chair and turned it upside down, so that the sight of it when I rose
might remind me that I had something to do. With the same object I
crossed the tongs and poker on the floor. Gilray maintains that
instead of playing "fool's tricks" like these ("fool's tricks!") I
should have got up and gone at once to his rooms with my water-bottle.
What? and disturbed my neighbors? Besides, could I reasonably be
expected to risk catching my death of cold for the sake of a wretched
chrysanthemum? One reads of men doing such things for young ladies who
seek lilies in dangerous ponds or edelweiss on overhanging cliffs. But
Gilray was not my sweetheart, nor, I feel certain, any other person's.

I come now to the day prior to Gilray's return. I had just reached the
office when I remembered about the chrysanthemum. It was my last
chance. If I watered it once I should be in a position to state that,
whatever condition it might be in, I had certainly been watering it. I
jumped into a hansom, told the cabby to drive to the inn, and twenty
minutes afterward had one hand on Gilray's door, while the other held
the largest water-can in the house. Opening the door I rushed in. The
can nearly fell from my hand. There was no flower-pot! I rang the
bell. "Mr. Gilray's chrysanthemum!" I cried. What do you think
William John said? He coolly told me that the plant was dead, and had
been flung out days ago. I went to the theater that night to keep
myself from thinking. All next day I contrived to remain out of
Gilray's sight. When we met he was stiff and polite. He did no