“What place is this?” she cried.
“My vinery. May I show you in?”
“It would give you so much trouble.”
“Trouble?” he said; and taking off his hat he drew back for her to enter.
“And will all those running things bear grapes?” she asked, as, throwing back her head and displaying the soft contour of her beautifully moulded throat, she gazed up at the tendril-handed vines.
“Yes,” he said, dreamily, “these are the young bunches with berries scarcely set. You see they grow too fast. I have to break off large pieces to keep them back, and tie them to those wires overhead.”
“Oh, do show me, Mr Rosebury?” she cried, with childlike eagerness.
“Yes,” he said, smiling; “but I must climb up there.”
“What, on to that board?”
“Yes, and tie them with this strong foreign grass.”