"It isn't at all. You are getting off grinds on me the whole time, and that's not fair. I should think conscientious scruples would hinder you."
"Conscientious scruples?"
"Yes," said Bouché. "The way you throw away opportunities tries even my conscience. You see, Miss Rose, I never had folks to stand round me and keep me straight. I've been a Topsy boy, all my life."
"Topsy-turvy?" suggested Rose.
Bouché drew a deep sigh.
"There it goes again," he said; "I shall have to take it, I suppose. But I guess it's true. And now, when somebody has a chance to set me right, she don't do it."
"What could she do?" Rose asked, seriously now.
"For one thing, she could take a long, long walk with me on Sunday. Keep me out of mischief the whole afternoon."
"You mistake, Mr. Bouché," said Rose, turning her clear, grave eyes upon him. "Getting into mischief one's self, never helps anybody else out."
"How would you get in?" Bouché said eagerly. "I'd max it on care of you."