“Why, how did you come here, dearest?”
“I—I don’t quite know,” said Rosa with a blush; “unless I am dreaming!”
Why with a blush? For their two faces were alone with the other flowers. Are blushes among the fruits of the country of the magic bean-stalk?
“I am not dreaming,” said Helena, smiling. “I should take more for granted if I were. How do we come together—or so near together—so very unexpectedly?”
Unexpectedly indeed, among the dingy gables and chimneypots of P. J. T.’s connection, and the flowers that had sprung from the salt sea. But Rosa, waking, told in a hurry how they came to be together, and all the why and wherefore of that matter.
“And Mr. Crisparkle is here,” said Rosa, in rapid conclusion; “and, could you believe it? long ago he saved his life!”
“I could believe any such thing of Mr. Crisparkle,” returned Helena, with a mantling face.
(More blushes in the bean-stalk country!)
“Yes, but it wasn’t Crisparkle,” said Rosa, quickly putting in the correction.
“I don’t understand, love.”