He took the shears from her pink fingers and felt the thrill of their touch for just a moment.
His eyes lingered on the beautiful picture she made with flushed face and tangled ringlets of golden brown hair falling over forehead and cheeks and white rounded throat. The blue gingham apron was infinitely more becoming than the most elaborate ball costume. It suggested home and the sweet intimacy of comradeship.
"You're lovely in that blue apron, Miss Betty," he said with earnestness.
"Then I'm forgiven for making home folks of you?"
"I'm very happy in it."
"Well, you see I had no choice," she hastened to add. "I just had to finish these flowers before dressing for dinner. I'm expecting that handsome brother of yours directly and I must look my best for him, now mustn't I?"
She smiled into his eyes with such charming audacity he had to laugh.
"Of course, you must!" he agreed, and bent quickly to the task of clearing her violet bed of entangled vines. In ten minutes his strong hand had done the work of an hour for her slender fingers.
"How swiftly and beautifully you work, Ned!" she exclaimed as he rose with face flushed and gazed a moment admiringly on the witchery of her exquisite figure.
"How would you like me for a steady gardener?"