“O, Victor, what is this gift to which Madame Le Brun objects?”
“La la, I have aroused your curiosity, have I?”
“Well, you see,” Lucie began bunching the flowers she held, “you see I am interested in a gift for Annette, who is my dearest friend.”
“My cousin Annette is to be congratulated, mademoiselle,” returned Victor with a twinkle in his eye. “Very well, then, give me a rose and I will show you the gift, a fine rose, mind.”
“Red or white?”
“Neither; one of those delicate pink ones like your cheeks.”
Lucie ignored the flattery, and held up a rose which Victor regarded critically. “Too full blown,” he declared. “It will fade before morning.”
“I will gather one from the bush, one between a rose and a bud.”
“As you yourself are.”
Lucie made a little face at him. “How you are silly, Victor. You speak as if to a young lady.”