Then they exchanged their pieces, rather solemnly and without speaking much. Colin's fingers lingered round Lily's as she tendered her little spray towards him, and they looked long at one another in the moonlight.
"I shall always keep mine," he murmured.
"As a remembrance," whispered Lily.
"I shan't need anything to make me remember," said the boy reproachfully. "Will you keep yours?" he added beseechingly.
"Yes."
Colin kissed his piece of heather and put it into a little pocketbook.
Lily tucked hers tenderly into the front of her gown. Then it was all over and the others joined them, and they went down the hill again all together, singing "For Auld Lang Syne," and Lily and Kenneth were left at their own lodge-gates.
And for the next few days, Lily found the picnics dull, and the tennis parties no longer events to be looked forward to, and the taking of photographs not worth while.
Once Dorothy Hardinge said to her, quite calmly: "I believe Colin Eastwood was awfully in love with you, Lily."
"Father says Colin is frightfully susceptible," said Janet quickly. "I heard Father and Mother laughing about him."