Paynter, at the very door of the big bedroom into which
Fifi had long since been moved. The landlady, backing Queed against the
banisters, told him how much her daughter had been pleased by his
beautiful remembrance. The child, she said, wanted particularly to thank
him herself, and wouldn't he please come in and see her just a moment?
As Mrs. Paynter threw open the door in the act of making the
extraordinary request, escape was impossible. Queed found himself inside
the room before he knew what he was doing. As for Mrs. Paynter, she
somewhat treacherously slipped away to consult with Laura as to what for
supper.
It was a mild sunny afternoon, with a light April wind idly kicking at
the curtains. Fifi sat over by the open window in a tilted-back Morris
chair, a sweet-faced little thing, all eyes and pallor. From her many
covers she extricated a fragile hand, frilled with the sleeve of a
pretty flowered kimono.
"Look at them! Aren't they glorious!"
On a table at her elbow his roses nodded from a wide-lipped vase, a
gorgeous riot of flame and fragrance. Gazing at them, the young man
marvelled at his own princely prodigality.
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