"
"They're proof prints," he told her proudly. "I remember you went to see
those pictures, years ago, when they were on show in Brockenham, and liked
them. I've had the chairs covered with red leather 'stead of horsehair. It
costs more, but you used to say red was cheerful."
"It is so very nice, Mr. Gibbon."
"In the drawing-room there is a piano. Come and see."
She went, because of that strange new peremptoriness of manner which she
felt she had not the moral courage to disobey. The drawing-room had fresh
flowers in a vase upon the centre table.
"Did you put the flowers there, Mr. Gibbon?"
"I put them there every day. For you. I have been waiting for you to come
to see them. Everything is always ready. You like it all?"
"Yes, indeed."
"It is yours, then. It is all for you. From cowl on the chimney-pot--the
kitchen-chimney smoked; I thought it would be inconvenient--to the bunch
of honeysuckle on the table. All yours."
"Oh no, Mr. Gibbon."
"All yours. Every carpet has been laid down for you, every chair and table
bought. Every seed has been sown, every tree planted. For you."
Deleah, speechless for the moment, looked at the man with eyes grown wide
with dismay. His was no tragic figure.
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