"Thank you," she said, smiling a little. "It was a condescension. You look very sleepy."
"And you are, as ever, pleased to make sport of me," he responded, good-humoredly. "Have you no pity for a man weary of himself, his very sportiveness, and most mightily tired of the silence of the trees, the shadows, the sun, and the river yonder?"
"Troth, you are in a bad way," responded the young lady, seating herself at the table and taking therefrom a reticule which held some silken knitting-work.
There was a pause before Fairfield observed, idly, "My aunt's roses must be highly successful this year."
"Yes. These are very perfect."
"And are you going to be so selfish as to keep the two of them, when not even one is needed to complete your beau—"
"No, no. Stop!"
Sir Charles looked at her in surprise.
"Take both the flowers if you like"—she tossed them over to him—"but forbear any remarks on my appearance. I—I am not in the mood."
He fastened the roses upon his waistcoat, helped himself to a pinch of snuff, dusted his coat with a large handkerchief, and leaned towards her. "How have I offended, O Virginia the fair?" he asked, half lazily, half curiously.