"How sweet it smells!"
"It's the potpurri in the Canton jars," she told him shyly. "I always
made it every summer for Lady Audrey--she thought I did it better than
any one else. I think so too." She flushed at the mirth in his eyes, but
held her ground sturdily. "Flowers are sweeter for you if you love
them--even dead ones," she explained bravely.
"They would be dead indeed, if they were not sweet for you." Her cheeks
burned bright at the low intensity of his voice, but he turned suddenly
away. "Oh, there she sails--there she sails still, my beauty. Isn't she
the proud one though--straight into the wind!" He hung over the little
ship model, thrilled as any child. "_The Flying Lady_--see where it's
painted on her? Grandfather gave it to me when I was seven--he had it
from his father when he was six. Lord, how proud I was!" He stood back
to see it better, frowning a little. "One of those ropes is wrong; any
fool could tell that--" His hands hovered over it for a moment--dropped.
"No matter--the new owners are probably not seafarers! The lacquer
chest is at the far end, isn't it? Yes, here. Are three enough--four?
We're off!" But still he lingered, sweeping the great room with his
dark eyes. "It's full of all kinds of junk--they never liked it--no
period, you see.
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