Flossie was so shy that when you spoke to her she never answered all at once; so shy that when she spoke to you she never turned her head to look at you, but left you to judge of the effect you made on her by the corners of her mouth and eyes.  So now he had to look very carefully at her to see whether she were saying yes or no.  Casually again (as if this course were not necessarily involved in acceptance) he inquired whether he might have the pleasure of taking her.

Miss Bishop looked another way.  Her loose mouth hung desirous. (Miss Bishop’s face was flagrantly frank, devoid of all repose.  None of these people had any repose about them except Flossie.) Flossie was dubious and demure.  Was he quite sure it was a pleasure?  He protested that in a world where few things were certain, that, at any rate, admitted of no doubt.  Flossie deliberated whether this further step were or were not a departure from her ideal of propriety.  And it was not until he showed signs of retracting his proposal that she intimated her consent.  But as for pleasure, if Flossie were pleased she did not allow it to appear.  And although her heart beat excitedly under her blue blouse, it was on the side that was not next to Mr. Rickman.

Then Miss Roots began to talk of incomprehensible things excitedly.  So excitedly, that she had, for the moment, quite a colour.  And while they talked, all the other boarders turned in their places and watched Mr. Rickman as if he had been some wonderful enchanter; Mr. Soper alone emphasizing by an attitude his entire aloofness from the general interest.

And all the time Miss Roots was talking, Flossie, without saying a word, contrived to seize upon the disengaged portion of his mind.  He wondered what she was thinking about.

She was thinking, first, that it really paid to put on your best blouse every evening.  Next, that it wasn’t worth while if he would keep on talking to the lady on his right.  Then that she couldn’t decide the point until she knew where he was going on Sunday.

That she never knew; but she went to the play with him on Saturday, and on many Saturdays after that.  There was nobody so gay that spring as Flossie.

Coming fresh to Flossie after a long estrangement, Rickman couldn’t recognize her from his old account of her as a poor little girl who worked too hard and never had any fun to speak of.  In so describing her, no doubt he had been influenced by the melancholy of his earlier mood.  But there were other reasons why he still insisted on regarding her in this pathetic light.  It provided him with several very agreeable sensations, and the most agreeable of all was the voluptuous passion of pity.  It kept him detached, always in the superior position of a benefactor.  Benefactor, indeed!  He was in a fair way of becoming Flossie’s deity, her Providence, the mystic source of theatre-tickets and joy.  No really brave man ever shrinks from the dangers of apotheosis, when the process involves no loss of personal dignity.  And apart from the gratification of his natural healthy vanity, Rickman’s heart was touched by the thought that the little thing turned to him instinctively for all her innocent pleasures.