“Oh, sweetheart,” cried Brereton, clasping her tightly. “Do you mean—can the flowers truly say that you really love me?”
“They can, but never how much.”
“Then tell me yourself.”
“No words can.”
“Ah, sweetheart, try,” besought Brereton.
“Then stoop and let me whisper it,” said the girl, and obediently Jack bent his head. But what she had to tell was told by her lips upon his.
It was Billy Lee who finally interrupted them. “You’ll ’scuse me, Gen’l an’ Missy Janice,” he called, apologetically, from the opening in the hedge, “but Lady Washington dun send me to ’splain dat if she delay de dinner any mo’ dat Gen’l Brereton suttinly be late at de cote-martial.” And as a second couple made a hurried if reluctant exodus from paradise, he continued, “I dun tender youse my bestest felicitations, sah. Golly! Won’t Missis Sukey and dat Blueskin dun be pleased.”
“She will be when she and Peg are bought and safe back at Greenwood, Billy, as they soon will be,” predicted Brereton.
In the dining room stood the commander-in-chief and Mrs. Washington, and as Jack and Janice entered it through one of the windows, the latter caught the girl in her arms, and kissed her warmly.
“Oh, Lady Washington,” cried the maiden, ecstatically, “how can I ever thank you!”