"Won't you shake hands?" he said with a laugh, which died away as she took up the rose and placed it in his extended palm.
"Will you take back this flower, my lord?" she said quietly, but with a trembling quiver on her lips.
"Take back?" he stammered. "Take back the rose I gave you last night!" he went on with astonishment. "Why? what have I done to offend you?" and he stared from the rose to her face.
"You have done nothing to offend me, my lord," said Margaret quickly, and with a vivid blush, which angered her beyond expression. "Nothing whatever, but——"
"But—well?" he said as she paused.
"But," she went on, lifting her eyes to his bravely—"but I do not think I ought to take a flower from you, my lord."
"Good lord, why not?" he demanded, with not unreasonable astonishment.
Margaret looked down. But she was no coward.
"I will say more than that," she said in a low but steady voice. "I ought not to have remained in the garden with you last night, Lord Leyton. I thought so last night, I am sure of it now. And if I ought not to have stayed talking with you, I certainly ought not to have accepted a flower from you! I beg your pardon, and—there is your rose!"
A look of pain crossed his handsome face.