THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE
and they were silent in the sacredness of their love.
From his breast he took the posy of wild flowers that he had gathered.
“They are for you,” he whispered, “I gathered them for you, hours ago, in this wood. See! They are not withered.”
But she was perplexed by his words and said to him, blushing, “How was it for me that you gathered them, though you had never seen me?”
“I gathered them for you,” he answered, “knowing I should soon see you. How was it that you, who had never seen me, yet waited for me?”
“I waited, knowing I should see you at last.” And she kissed the posy and put it at her breast.
And they rose from their knees and went into the wood, walking hand in hand. As they went, he asked the names of the flowers that grew under their feet. “These are primroses,” she would say, “Did you not know? And these are ladies’ feet, and these forget-me-nots. And that white flower, climbing up the trunks of the trees and trailing down so prettily from the branches, is called Astyanax. These little yellow things are buttercups. Did you not know?” And she laughed.
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