What a blessing she hadn't said "No" when Maurice asked her. If she had, she would have been living at Rickfort now with Uncle George.
"Tita!" cries Maurice.
He has thrown up the window of his smoking-room, and is calling to her.
"Yes?"
She turns to him, her arms full of flowers, her vivacious little face, just like another sort of flower, peeping over them.
"Can you come in for a moment?"
"Why can't you come out? Do, it is lovely here!"
"I can if you like, but it will mean hauling out pencils and paper, and——"
"Oh well, I'll come."
She runs to him across the green, sweet grass, and, standing beneath the window, holds out her hands to him.