He released her, and she brought them to him, a huge bunch of azaleas. She buried her delightful little nose in them. “Ah,” she said, “flowers mos’ sweetes’ thing in all the worl’, an’ all them same flowers for you, for you.”

“Where did you get them, dear?” he asked, taking her hands instead of the flowers, and drawing her, flowers and all, into his arms. She faltered a little, and then said, with the old daring smile flashing back in her face: “Nize Japanese gents making me present those flowers.”

He caught her wrists in a grip of iron. “What do you mean?” he demanded, fiercely, wild jealousy assailing him.

She pulled herself from him, and regarded the little wrists ruefully.

“Ain’ you shamed?” she accused.

“Yes!” He kissed the little wrists with an inward sob. “Tell me all, my little one. Please do not hide anything from me. I can’t bear it.”

“Thad Japanese gent wanter marry with me,” she informed him, calmly smiling, and dimpling as if it amused her, and then making a face to show him her feelings in the matter.

“My! How he adore me!” she added, vividly.

“Marry with you! What do you mean? You are my wife.”

“Yes, bud he din know thad,” she said, consolingly; “an’ see, I bring his same flowers unto you.”