"Will you take this? I am sorry it is all I have to offer."
He takes the hand that holds the flower and puts it to his lips.
"It is all I ask; so your heart comes with it."
Vainly she tries to draw back; he holds the small hand tighter, bending till his breath floats over her forehead.
"Lulu, I did not come here for the gift of a hot-house flower, though coming from you it is dearer than would be a very flower from those botanical gardens that are the glory of Washington. I wanted a rarer flower—even yourself."
Her face is hidden in one small hand. In low tones she answers:
"I thought this matter was settled long ago. Did I not tell you no?"
There is a long pause. Presently he answers, with a wondrous patience for him:
"You did, and rightly then, for I did not fully appreciate your pure womanly affection. I thought I could easily win you, and having lost you I loved you more. Lulu, I am woefully in earnest. Refuse me now, and you, perhaps, drive me away from you for years—it may be forever. I love you more than I did then—a thousand times better."