"Thanks. They are certainly too good to be only looked at," said Percy; "but you must help me;" and he pulled off a fine bunch and handed it to her.
"Oh no," said Beryl, shrinking back. "I don't want any; they are all for you."
"But I don't want them all," said Percy decidedly; "if you won't have any, I won't either, so you may just carry them down again."
"That is silly," remonstrated Beryl; "because you are ill, and want them more than I do."
"No, I don't; you want them too," persisted Percy. "Come, sit down here, and put the plate between us, and we'll see who can eat the most."
There was no resisting Percy; he would have his own way. Happily there was an abundant supply of grapes, and the two were soon chatting in the most friendly way as they enjoyed the fruit together.
"I say," said Percy presently, in a confidential tone; "what's up for Friday?"
"Friday," faltered Beryl in surprise; "what do you mean?"
"Oh, you know," he returned, "you've planned something for Friday. What is it—a picnic?"
"What makes you think there is anything planned for Friday?" asked Beryl, anxious to discover how much he knew. "Has any one told you?"