"Not for you either, apparently," remarked Philip.
"No," said Veronica. "I'm good, Miss Wilbur is better, but his best girl is at home on the porch."
There the boy found her, and luckily alone. He advanced holding out his gift without a word. She colored with pleasure as she accepted it, holding it in one hand and caressing it with the other as from time to time she took the sweet breath of the roses.
"Thank you so much, Bertie!" she exclaimed. "It must have taken you a long time to gather so many."
"No—he had a knife."
"Who, your uncle?"
"No—Mr. Blake. Uncle Nick mustn't know. You won't tell him?"
"No, dear child, I won't tell him." She looked in the boy's face for a reflection of her own pleasure, but there was none. He remained standing.
"Sit down, Bertie, you have had a long walk."
He did so with some reluctance. "This is the last—last time I'll sit with you," he said.