and petals and pollen scattered over his coat sleeve. But wait a bit.
This was too quick altogether. He'd meant to think the whole thing out
again. Here, steady. But he was walking up the path, with the huge rose
bushes on either side. It can't be done like this. But his hand had
grasped the bell, given it a pull, and started it pealing wildly, as if
he'd come to say the house was on fire. The housemaid must have been in
the hall, too, for the front door flashed open, and Reggie was shut in the
empty drawing-room before that confounded bell had stopped ringing.
Strangely enough, when it did, the big room, shadowy, with some one's
parasol lying on top of the grand piano, bucked him up--or rather, excited
him. It was so quiet, and yet in one moment the door would open, and his
fate be decided. The feeling was not unlike that of being at the
dentist's; he was almost reckless. But at the same time, to his immense
surprise, Reggie heard himself saying, "Lord, Thou knowest, Thou hast not
done much for me..." That pulled him up; that made him realize again how
dead serious it was. Too late. The door handle turned. Anne came in,
crossed the shadowy space between them, gave him her hand, and said, in her
small, soft voice, "I'm so sorry, father is out. And mother is having a
day in town, hat-hunting. There's only me to entertain you, Reggie."

Reggie gasped, pressed his own hat to his jacket buttons, and stammered
out, "As a matter of fact, I've only come...to say good-bye."

"Oh!" cried Anne softly--she stepped back from him and her grey eyes
danced--"what a very short visit!"

Then, watching him, her chin tilted, she laughed outright, a long, soft
peal, and walked away from him over to the piano, and leaned against it,
playing with the tassel of the parasol.