He went in a panic— Some girls were such frightful flirts! They had no decency—They didn't play the game!
"You are mine!" he said fiercely and he glared at the gardener among his roses across the path.
"Oh—very well! Have it so!" Her voice was laughing and sweet.
His courage came flooding back. "You are to wait here—please, and we'll have the tea brought out."
"Oh— How pretty!" She was looking into the pergola. A green maze of branches crossed and recrossed the sides; and among them the scattered roses flushed transparently in the light. "How beautiful it is!"
"Will you go in?" he said, standing aside.
"Will you walk into my parlor?" She stepped lightly in and faced him. "Now go and get tea! I like it here!"
She sat down and he looked at her once—and was off.
He hurried fast. Suppose she didn't stay?... Suppose it were not real! He fussed about cakes and sandwiches—and there must be strawberries. Everything must be of the best. Suppose she didn't wait! He hurried back.