Edith was amused, but also a little bored. Ever since the dinner at the
Savoy, now a fortnight ago, Raggett had been showing furtive signs of a
wild admiration for her, at the same time hedging absurdly by asking her
to tell him when he might call and giving no address, and by (for
instance) pretending he had plucked the flowers himself, evidently not
knowing that they had been sent with her address written on a card
printed with the name of Cooper's Stores in the Edgware Road.

She never knew how Bruce would take things, so she had not said anything
about it to him yet. He seemed to have forgotten the existence of
Raggett, and never mentioned him now.

She arranged the flowers in some blue and white china vases, and sat
down by the window in the little drawing-room. She had before her, until
Bruce would come home to dinner, two of those empty hours which all
young married women in her position have known. There was nothing to do.
Archie was still out, and she was tired of reading, and disliked
needlework.

She had just come back from seeing Hyacinth. How full and interesting
_her_ life seemed! At any rate, _she_ had everything before her. Edith
felt as if she herself were locked up in a box. Even her endless
patience with Bruce was beginning to pall a little.

As she was thinking these things she heard a ring, and the maid came in
and said--

'It's the gentleman that left the flowers, and could you see him for a
minute?'