He emerged again with only a few small silver coins remaining out of the sovereign he had changed.  The roses were to go to Ethel, properly packed; they were to be delivered according to his express direction at six o’clock.

“Six o’clock,” Lewisham had reiterated very earnestly.

“We quite understand,” the young lady in black had said, and had pretended to be unable to conceal a smile.  “We’re quite accustomed to sending out flowers.”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE COMING OF THE ROSES.

And the roses miscarried!

When Lewisham returned from Vigours’ it was already nearly seven.  He entered the house with a beating heart.  He had expected to find Ethel excited, the roses displayed.  But her face was white and jaded.  He was so surprised by this that the greeting upon his lips died away.  He was balked!  He went into, the sitting-room and there were no roses to be seen.  Ethel came past him and stood with her back to him looking out of the window.  The suspense was suddenly painful....

He was obliged to ask, though he was certain of the answer, “Has nothing come?”

Ethel looked at him.  “What did you think had come?”

“Oh! nothing.”

She looked out of the window again.  “No,” she said slowly, “nothing has come.”

He tried to think of something to say that might bridge the distance between them, but he could think of nothing.  He must wait until the roses came.  He took out his books and a gaunt hour passed to supper time.  Supper was a chilly ceremonial set with necessary over-polite remarks.  Disappointment and exasperation darkened Lewisham’s soul.  He began to feel angry with everything—­even with her—­he perceived she still judged him angry, and that made him angry with her.  He was resuming his books and she was helping Madam Gadow’s servant to clear away, when they heard a rapping at the street door.  “They have come at last,” he said to himself brightening, and hesitated whether he should bolt or witness her reception of them.  The servant was a nuisance.  Then he heard Chaffery’s voices and whispered a soft “damn!” to himself.

The only thing to do now if the roses came was to slip out into the passage, intercept them, and carry them into the bedroom by the door between that and the passage.  It would be undesirable for Chaffery to witness that phase of sentiment.  He might flash some dart of ridicule that would stick in their memory for ever.

Lewisham tried to show that he did not want a visitor.  But Chaffery was in high spirits, and could have warmed a dozen cold welcomes.  He sat down without any express invitation in the chair that he preferred.

Before Mr. and Mrs. Chaffery the Lewishams veiled whatever trouble might be between them beneath an insincere cordiality, and Chaffery was soon talking freely, unsuspicious of their crisis.  He produced two cigars.  “I had a wild moment,” he said. “‘For once,’ said I, ’the honest shall smoke the admirable—­or the admirable shall smoke the honest,’ whichever you like best.  Try one?  No?  Those austere principles of yours!  There will be more pleasure then.  But really, I would as soon you smoked it as I. For to-night I radiate benevolence.”