'What do you want these for?' Wilson asked.
'I want them,' she said. She wished servants did not ask questions.
'Ay, you've said as much. But what do you want them for, for
decoration, or to send away, or what?' 'I want them for a presentation bouquet.' 'A presentation bouquet! Who's coming then?--the Duchess of Portland?' 'No.' 'Oh, not her? Well you'll have a rare poppy-show if you put all the
things you've mentioned into your bouquet.' 'Yes, I want a rare poppy-show.' 'You do! Then there's no more to be said.' The next day Winifred, in a dress of silvery velvet, and holding a
gaudy bunch of flowers in her hand, waited with keen impatience in the
schoolroom, looking down the drive for Gudrun's arrival. It was a wet
morning. Under her nose was the strange fragrance of hot-house flowers,
the bunch was like a little fire to her, she seemed to have a strange
new fire in her heart. This slight sense of romance stirred her like an
intoxicant.
At last she saw Gudrun coming, and she ran downstairs to warn her
father and Gerald. They, laughing at her anxiety and gravity, came with
her into the hall. The man-servant came hastening to the door, and
there he was, relieving Gudrun of her umbrella, and then of her
raincoat. The welcoming party hung back till their visitor entered the
hall.
Gudrun was flushed with the rain, her hair was blown in loose little
curls, she was like a flower just opened in the rain, the heart of the
blossom just newly visible, seeming to emit a warmth of retained
sunshine. Gerald winced in spirit, seeing her so beautiful and unknown.
She was wearing a soft blue dress, and her stockings were of dark red.
Winifred advanced with odd, stately formality.
'We are so glad you've come back,' she said. 'These are your flowers.'
She presented the bouquet.
'Mine!' cried Gudrun. She was suspended for a moment, then a vivid
flush went over her, she was as if blinded for a moment with a flame of
pleasure. Then her eyes, strange and flaming, lifted and looked at the
father, and at Gerald. And again Gerald shrank in spirit, as if it
would be more than he could bear, as her hot, exposed eyes rested on
him. There was something so revealed, she was revealed beyond bearing,
to his eyes. He turned his face aside. And he felt he would not be able
to avert her. And he writhed under the imprisonment.
Gudrun put her face into the flowers.