"Yes, I—I—You shouldn't keep spoiling me with such grand flowers and candy, Mr. Hochenheimer."
"If tell you that never in my life I sent flowers or candy, or wrote a letter like I wrote you yesterday, to another young lady, I guess you laugh at me—not, Miss Renie?"
"You shouldn't begin, Mr. Hochenheimer, by spoiling me."
"Ah, Miss Renie, if you knew how I like to spoil you, if you would let me—Ach, what's the use? I—I can't say it like I want." She could hear him breathing. "It—it's a grand night, Miss Renie."
"Yes."
"Grand!"
"And look over those roofs! It seems like there's a million stars shining, don't it?"
"You're like me, Miss Renie; so many times I've noticed it. Nothing is so grand to me as nature, neither."
"Up at Green Springs, in the Ozarks, where we went for ten days last summer, honest, Mr. Hochenheimer, I used to lie looking out the window all night. The stars up there shone so close it seemed like you could nearly touch them."
"Ain't that wonderful, Miss Renie, you should be just like me again!" She smiled in the dark. "When I was a boy always next to the attic window I liked to sleep. When I built my house, Miss Renie, the first thing after I designed my rose-garden I drew up for myself a sleeping-garden on my roof. The architects fussed enough about spoiling the roof-line, but that's one of the things I wanted which I stood pat for and got—my sleeping-garden."