He wondered dreamily what had become of the world——
She smiled softly at his words.
A little breeze came and scattered the rose leaves in her lap—the soft, fragrant heap that she had gathered for pot-pourri—and roused the man.
He stooped to gather them up, but she stayed him.
"There are plenty more," she said.
"Yes," he said; "what a lovely old garden it is!"
He watched the pink deepen in her cheek, and the little dimples come and go as she smiled softly at his words.
Then he sighed.
"My arm is better," he said. "I"—doubtfully—"must go to-day."