bouquet and could give it to Gudrun the next day. Her passion and her complete indecision almost made her ill.
At last she slid to her father’s side.
“Daddie—” she said.
“What, my precious?”
But she hung back, the tears almost coming to her eyes, in her sensitive confusion. Her father looked at her, and his heart ran hot with tenderness, an anguish of poignant love.
“What do you want to say to me, my love?”
“Daddie—!” her eyes smiled laconically—“isn’t it silly if I give Miss Brangwen some flowers when she comes?”
The sick man looked at the bright, knowing eyes of his child, and his heart burned with love.
“No, darling, that’s not silly. It’s what they do to queens.”