We had some men coming in to luncheon,
I remembered, but I would go and see her early in the morning. We
were generally alone with each other in the morning. This evening I
should have no chance of speaking as I meant to speak. When the
evening came, I felt unfit even to go and see her, and it was later
than I intended the next morning when I reached the house. I had
made myself later, too, by stopping on the way to get her some
flowers. There was little in the shop worth having but some lilies,
all price, scent, and brilliance. I took these and hurried on. They
were very fine specimens, certainly, I thought, as I glanced over
them. I care very little for flowers; they are useful, of course,
sometimes, as a present for women, and a button-hole; but there, for
me, their merits cease. Howard would have sentimentalised into two
or three verses over these.
I found her in the drawing-room, as usual now, for the studio was
rarely ever visited, except when she went to gaze in an abstracted
way on the finished work. She was doing nothing--as usual now--she
who formerly worked without ceasing every hour of daylight. Nor was
there anything near her that suggested or made possible the
supposition of work or even occupation. Every book was ranged in
different cases in remote corners of the room. Not a newspaper, nor
blotting-book, nor pen, lay on the table.
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