I am not a child,
and if I catch an idly flung bouquet that holds idle secrets, I
surely have a right to them." She laughed hurriedly. "Come, give me my
note,--some Italian babble, I dare say."
Norman looked at her for a minute with a struggle in his heart and a
flash of half scorn, Mae thought, on his face. What was he thinking?
That the child was in danger. He had no doubt in his own mind now that
the flowers and the note came from Bero and that Mae knew it. He held
the paper crushed in his hand, while he looked at her.
"I presume you will never forgive me," he said, "but I must warn you,
not as a mentor or even as a friend," noticing her annoyed air, "but as
one soul is bound to warn another soul, seeing it in danger. Take care
of yourself, and there!" And taking the crushed note between his two
hands, he deliberately tore it asunder and threw the halves on the table
before her.
"And there, and there, and there!" cried Mae, tearing the fragments
impetuously, and scattering the sudden little snow flakes before him.
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