He bent forward. "Cara!" he whispered. No answer. "Cara!" he repeated.
"Yeth, thir," she lisped in a whimsical little-girl voice, looking up with a smile stolen from a fairy-tale.
"I am just lending you that rose. I had meant to give it to you, but now I want it back—when you are through with it. May I have it?"
She held it out teasingly. "Do you want it now—Indian-giver?" she demanded.
"You know I don't," in an injured tone.
"I'm glad, because you couldn't have it—yet." And she was gone, leaving him to make his appearance from the direction of his own apartments.