She wore it that evening on her
bosom. A week later she wore what I took to be another.
"You have had luck," I said; "I never heard of such a thing being
seen so high up, and you have found it twice."
"No, it is the same."
"The same? Impossible. You found it more than a week ago." "I
know. It is ten days. Flowers don't die when one understands them
- not as most people think."
Her mother looked up and said fretfully:
"Since she was a child Brynhild has had that odd idea. That
flower is dead and withered. Throw it away, child. It looks
hideous."
Was it glamour? What was it? I saw the flower dewy fresh in her
bosom She smiled and turned away.
It was that very evening she left the veranda where we were
sitting in the subdued light of a little lamp and passed beyond
where the ray cut the darkness. She went down the perspective of
trees to the edge of he clearing and I rose to follow for it
seemed absolutely unsafe that she should be on the verge of the
panther-haunted woods alone. Mrs. Ingmar turned a page of her
book serenely;
"She will not like it if you go.
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