“Come in and let me gather you some,” said Charlie.
“No, indeed. I should not venture. Though I went in the first time without an invitation. And you dare not pick Mr Stirling’s flowers.”
“Dare I not?” said Charlie, reaching up to gather a large spray from a climbing rose, that reached high above the wall.
“Oh! don’t. Oh! thank you,” said Rose.
As far down as they could see for the evergreens and horse-chestnuts a white dress gleamed, and close beside the little feet that peeped out beneath it, a pair of shining boots crushed the gravel.
“Look,” said Rose, drawing back.
“The new partner,” said Harry, with a whistle. “A double partnership—eh, Charlie?”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Charlie, looking wise.
“He knows what he’s about, that brother of yours. He’s cute. He knows a thing or two, I guess.”
“Harry,” said Rose, gravely, “don’t talk slang. And I don’t think it very polite to speak that way to Mr Millar about his brother.”