“May I come in now?” he inquired humbly.
“I don’t think my father would object,” Lettice returned demurely, and the young man vaulted the hedge instantly. “You should have gone around; at the other side there is an opening,” Lettice told him.
“I didn’t see it. This is an interesting spot, isn’t it?” he said, throwing himself down by her side. “What fair, sweet flowers grow here; but the fairest of all—”
“Lutie,” cried Lettice, “there’s that old turkey-hen now. I saw her run out from behind Theophilus Hopkins’s grave. Go head her off. Excuse me, Mr. Clinton, you were saying something about flowers.”
“I was saying,” he returned, a little put out, “that you have planted some very pretty flowers in here.”
“Oh, yes; we like to keep the place as pretty as we can. Come, we will go over there on the other side of the hedge by that big tree. I have been in here long enough. Was it warm riding over?”
“Yes, more than warm, hot; but there’s a refreshing breeze from the creek just here; I’d like to take you out there.”
Lettice looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. “You mean you would like me to take you out there. You can’t sail a boat.”
“I can row.”
“On this hot afternoon? No, sir.”