"Let me go!" she cried half in earnest and half laughing, raising her dark eyes appealingly to him.
"Why should I?" he answered. "I took you from the rose-bush and shall hold you fast until you give me your sister there, the other rose, from your bosom, to take home with me as a keepsake."
"Please let me go," repeated Sappho, "I will promise nothing unless you let my hand go."
"But if I do, you will not run away again?"
"Certainly not."
"Well, then, I will give you your liberty, but now you must give me your rose."
"There are plenty on the bush yonder, and more beautiful ones; choose whichever you like. Why do you want just this one?"
"To keep it carefully in remembrance of the most beautiful maiden I ever saw."
"Then I shall certainly not give it to you; for those are not my real friends who tell me I am beautiful, only those who tell me I am good."
"Where did you learn that?"