red—this is the front, dear. Look, it looks lovely behind. Well, there's lots of others."
She bought a toque of cornflower-blue velvet finally. "I'm getting giddy in my old age," she told herself, carrying home the round box with "J. M. Small & Son, Modes, Manteaux, & Dry Goods" on the cover; but her cheeks were pink and her eyes shone. She stopped at Clark's for some flowers. What if she couldn't afford them? Mr. Clark stopped working on the sheaf of palms, white roses, and purple ribbon that he was always arranging, and waited on her himself, waving aside his assistants.
"Joe's coming home to-morrow morning, Mr. Clark!"
"Well, that's great news, Mis' Green; it surely is! I read a piece in the paper about how he got wounded in the limb; my wife cut it out. We all think a lot of Joe, always hev since he was a little feller and used to be down here alla time"
She followed him as he hobbled down the greenhouse aisles. Warm moist heat, hissing pipes, pots of calceolarias, hideous, like the things you had to pull out when you were cleaning chickens. Spicy-sweet carnations brushing her cheek. Why did she suddenly remember her husband?
"Mr. Green used to be a great one for comin' in, in the old days. He was certainly one fine gentleman. Always liked to hev a carnation for his buttonhole."
