"Is she very bad?"
"No, but I think he ought to come."
"Must I bring him back?"
"Just leave a message, please, if it doesn't put you out."
In the pause before he spoke, he studied the dark head against the white-washed wall, the slim body, the little feet crossed on the cobbles, and then he stammered:
"You—you're like a rose-tree growing up."
She spread her arms and turned and drooped her head to encourage the resemblance. "Like that?"
He nodded, with the clumsiness of his emotions. "Look here—"
"Now, don't be tiresome. Oh, you can tell me what you were going to say."
"All these weeks—"