Wild Heather by L.T. Meade

I do not know how I parted with Vernon Carbury. I cannot recall even to this day whether I shook hands with him or not, or even whether he walked with me as far as the gates of the Park. What I do remember vividly is this: that I went home to Hanbury Square like one walking in a dream. The whole world seemed to me to be filled with a wonderful new light. In the midst of this radiance was one figure, one face; out of the brightness one voice seemed to speak, and one pair of eyes to shine. I was certain I did not in the least love Captain Carbury, but I did know that our meeting had been full of keen excitement, and that I was altogether lifted out of myself into a new and wonderful world. I wanted to be quite alone, to think over what had happened. I was puzzled, too, at the fact that I was trembling, and that my cheeks were hot one minute and that I felt cold all over the next.

Morris walked discreetly behind me, and the beautiful smell of the violets came in wafts now and then to my nostrils. During our walk home Morris had not spoken to me. When I reached the house I went straight to my pretty bedroom; I wanted more badly than ever to be quite by myself, but Morris annoyed me. She followed me into my bedroom, carrying the violets.