"Oh, I brought 'em round, going to school. I thought she'd started, but she hadn't. She opened the door. So there I was, stuck." Louise began to laugh. "I'd meant to leave them, just without any name."
"I see." Cynthia twinkled.
"She was rather—rather breakfasty, you know—and I got flustered and forgot to wish her 'many happy.' Wasn't it lucky? I was thankful afterwards. I only said they were out of the greenhouse and I thought she'd like them. She did, too." Louise smiled to herself.
"Well?"
"That's all."
"But where did the lie come in?"
"Oh! Oh—well—I'd bought them, you see. As if Mamma would let me pick flowers. Besides, we haven't even got a greenhouse. But I had five shillings at Christmas, and sixpence in the pudding—and sixpence a week pocket-money—and I never have anything to buy. I could well afford it," said Louise, with dignity.
"That's not a lie," said Cynthia, disappointed. "It's barely an—an evasion."
"I didn't mean to—evade. I was only afraid she'd be cross, and yet I couldn't resist getting them. Do you know the feeling, when you ache to give people things? But it was a lie, of course."
"Oh, well! You needn't mind. She tells plenty herself—acts them, at least——"