Evan strolled near the group, and bowed to Mrs. Shorne, whom he had not seen that morning.
The lady’s acknowledgement of his salute was constrained, and but a shade on the side of recognition. They were silent till he was out of earshot. He noticed that his second approach produced the same effect. In the conservatory Juliana was awaiting him.
“It is not to give you roses I called you here, Mr. Harrington,” she said.
“Not if I beg one?” he responded.
“Ah! but you do not want them from... It depends on the person.”
“Pluck this,” said Evan, pointing to a white rose.
She put her fingers to the stem.
“What folly!” she cried, and turned from it.
“Are you afraid that I shall compromise you?” asked Evan.
“You care for me too little for that.”