He had looked forward to this moment, too--when he should enter that same door and order at least an armful of those same haughty roses sent to an address his memory cherished. Yet now, the time having come, the zest for the feat was gone. It would be done; it were ungraceful not to do it, after certain expressions; but it would be done with no heart because of the certain knowledge that no one--at least no one to be desired--could possibly care for him, or consider him even with interest for anything but his money--the same kind of money Higbee made by purveying hams--"and she wouldn't care in the least whether it was mine or Higbee's, so there was a lot of it." Yet he stepped in and ordered the roses, nor did the florist once suspect that so lavish a buyer of flowers could be a prey to emotions of corroding cynicism toward the person for whom they were meant. From the florist's he returned directly to the hotel to find his mother and Psyche making homelike the suite to which they had been assigned. A maid was unpacking trunks under his sister's supervision. Mrs. Bines was in converse with a person of authoritative manner regarding the service to be supplied them. Two maids would be required, and madame would of course wish a butler-- Mrs. Bines looked helplessly at her son who had just entered. "I think--we've--we've always did our own buttling," she faltered. The person was politely interested. "I'll attend to these things, ma," said Percival, rather suddenly. "Yes, we'll want a butler and the two maids, and see that the butler knows his business, please, and--here--take this, and see that we're properly looked after, will you?" As the bill bore a large "C" on its face, and the person was rather a gentleman anyway, this unfortunate essay at irregular conjugation never fell into a certain class of anecdotes which Mrs. Bines's best friends could now and then bring themselves to relate of her. But other matters are forward. We may next overtake two people who loiter on this bracing October day down a leaf-strewn aisle in Central Park. "You," said the girl of the pair, "least of all men can accuse me of lacking heart." "You are cold to me now." "But look, think--what did I offer--you've had my trust,--everything I could bring myself to give you. Look what I would have sacrificed at your call. Think how I waited and longed for that call." "You know how helpless I was." "Yes, if you wanted more than my bare self. I should have been helpless, too, if I had wanted more than--than you." "It would have been folly--madness--that way." "Folly--madness? Do you remember the 'Sonnet of Revolt' you sent me? Sit on this bench; I wish to say it over to you, very slowly; I want you to hear it while you keep your later attitude in mind.