Phoebe and Polly had come to summon her back to the club; tea was on the
brew. With the intensest hospitality they invited Andrew to come, too.
But he declined with what grace he could and made his way through the
tangle down-stream as they walked back under the beeches.
Thus a very bitter thing had come to Andrew Sevier--and sweet as the
pulse of heaven. In his hand he had seen a sensitive flower unfold to its
very heart of flame.
"Never let her know," he prayed, "never let her know."