The widower came, holding out to her a votive cluster of violets, a pink rose among them, their stems wrapped in purple; and upon the lapel of his jovial flannel coat were other violets about a pink rosebud.

“How pretty of you!” said Julia, taking the offering; and as she pinned it at her waist, she added rather nervously, “I believe you know Mr. Sanders; he is going with us.”

She was warranted in believing the gentlemen to be acquainted, because no longer ago than the previous week they both had stated, in her presence and simultaneously, that any further communication between them would be omitted for life.  Julia realized, of course, that Mr. Ridgely must find the present meeting as trying as Newland did, and, to help him bear it, she contrived to make him hear the hurried whisper:  “Couldn’t-be-helped-explain-some-day.”

Then with a laugh not altogether assured, she took up her parasol.  “Shall we be starting?” she inquired.

“Here’s Noble Dill,” said Florence, “I guess he’s goin’ to try to go walkin’ with you, too, Aunt Julia.”

Julia turned, for in fact the gate at that moment clicked behind the nervously advancing form of Noble Dill.  He came with, a bravado that was merely pitiable and he tried to snap his Orduma cigarette away with thumb and forefinger in a careless fashion, only to see it publicly disappear through an open cellar window of the house.

“I hope there’s no excelsior down there,” said Newland Sanders.  “A good many houses have burned to the ground just that way.”

“It fell on the cement floor,” Florence reported, peering into the window.  “It’ll go out pretty soon.”

“Then I suppose we might as well do the same thing,” said Newland, addressing Julia first and Mr. Dill second.  “Miss Atwater and I are just starting for a walk.”

Mr. Ridgely also addressed the new arrival.  “Miss Atwater and I are just starting for a walk.”

“You see, Noble,” said the kind-hearted Julia, “I did tell you I had another engagement.”

“I came by here,” Mr. Dill began in a tone commingling timidity, love, and a fatal stubbornness; “I came by here—­I mean I just happened to be passing—­and I thought if it was a walking-party, well, why not go along?  That’s the way it struck me.”  He paused, coughing for courage and trying to look easily genial, but not succeeding; then he added, “Well, as I say, that’s the way it struck me—­as it were.  I suppose we might as well be starting.”

“Yes, we might,” Newland Sanders said quickly; and he placed himself at Julia’s left, seizing upon her parasol and opening it with determination.

Mr. Ridgely had kept himself closely at the lady’s right.  “You were mistaken, my boy,” he said, falsely benevolent.  “It isn’t a party—­though there’s Miss Florence, Noble.  Nobody’s asked her to go walking to-day!”

Now, Florence took this satire literally.  She jumped up and said brightly:  “I just as soon!  Let’s do have a walking-party.  I just as soon walk with Mr. Dill as anybody, and we can all keep together, kind of.”  With that, she stepped confidently to the side of her selected escort, who appeared to be at a loss how to avert her kindness.