So Peters stood away meekly. But on the whole he did not think it worth while to have himself taken afterwards.
The two copies arrived, and satisfied Elsa. "Though I've known myself look better," she said. One copy was for herself, and the other she destined for a particular friend. Peters had bought a plush frame, supposing that she had intended to give him one copy; well, that did not matter; he could order a third from the photographer. In the meantime he was required to pack up the photograph for the particular friend.
"It would travel safer," he said, "if you packed it between a couple of pieces of card."
Elsa looked thoughtful. "I've got an old bit in my writing-case," she said. "Go and fetch it, Mr Peters."
He hunted through the writing-case, but could not find it.
"Well, I know it's there, anyhow," she retorted. "I kept it, knowing it would come in some day. It's got those prayers on it that you wrote out for me when I was here before."
"Well, never mind, I'll go and get it myself; torn in half, it will just do. It will puzzle my friend, though--he's not one of the praying sort."
Peters was guilty of looking somewhat despondent as he moved away; this made Elsa rather angry. "You needn't look so glum," she said; "you didn't expect me to keep it all my life, and have it buried with me--silly old card--did you?"
"One thing I will say," Mrs Marks observed, after Elsa had gone, "is that she does brighten up a house. And I hope her looks mayn't be a snare to her. She has one young admirer already, and she a mere child! She's promised to come again next year. I hope you'll get on better with her then. You seemed more stand-offish this time--you've no complaint against her?"
"You're not looking well, Mr Peters. You'll excuse my mentioning it, but you want a doctor."
Peters shook his head slowly, but owned to a touch of something--probably liver. It was Sunday evening, and he had been intending to go to church as usual. But he changed his mind. He did not feel up to it. He sat under the plane tree and thought about Elsa as she used to be before she grew up.
He knew that old tree well now, knew every twist of the branches, every kink of the bark. In an unreasoning way he loved the tree. It had never repulsed him; it had always been there for him.