"She loves me more than she loves either of you," cried the rose, "because I am the first flower my master ever gave her!"
"She loves me more than she loves either of you," protested the orchid, "because I am the last flower my master ever gave her!"
The little white clover smiled to itself and said nothing. For the little white clover knew that its mistress had picked it herself.
LXIV
MOONLIGHT
It was in the late Springtime. And they were very young.
The young man sighed, "Ah, if the night were only fair, that we might sit close together, you and I, in the moonlight."
It was in the late Springtime. And they were very young.