That night brought the first frost of the season worth counting.In the morning, when Theron came downstairs, his casual glance through the window caught a desolate picture of blackened dahlia stalks and shrivelled blooms.
The gayety and color of the garden were gone, and in their place was shabby and dishevelled ruin.
He flung the sash up and leaned out.The nipping autumn air was good to breathe.He looked about him, surveying the havoc the frost had wrought among the flowers, and smiled.
At breakfast he smiled again--a mirthless and calculated smile."I see that Brother Gorringe's flowers have come to grief over night," he remarked.
Alice looked at him before she spoke, and saw on his face a confirmation of the hostile hint in his voice.
She nodded in a constrained way, and said nothing.
"Or rather, I should say, "Theron went on, with deliberate words, "the late Brother Gorringe's flowers.""How do you mean--LATE" asked his wife, swiftly.
"Oh, calm yourself!" replied the husband.He is not dead.
He has only intimated to me his desire to sever his connection.
I may add that he did so in a highly offensive manner.""I am very sorry," said Alice, in a low tone, and with her eyes on her plate.
"I took it for granted you would be grieved at his backsliding,"remarked Theron, making his phrases as pointed as he could.
"He was such a promising probationer, and you took such a keen interest in his spiritual awakening.
But the frost has nipped his zeal--along with the hundred or more dollars' worth of flowers by which he testified his faith.I find something interesting in their having been blasted simultaneously."Alice dropped all pretence of interest in her breakfast.
With a flushed face and lips tightly compressed, she made a movement as if to rise from her chair.
Then, changing her mind, she sat bolt upright and faced her husband.