CHAPTER LIX.
“GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY.”
If Peter had roamed about the hall that evening, he was still more restless the next morning. He was down early, though for no apparent reason, and did nothing but pass from hall to room, and room to hall, spending most of his time in the latter, however.
How Leonore could have got from her room into the garden without Peter’s seeing her was a question which puzzled him not a little, when, by a chance glance out of a window, he saw that personage clipping roses off the bushes. He did not have time to spare, however, to reason out an explanation. He merely stopped roaming, and went out to—to the roses.
“Good-morning,” said Leonore pleasantly, though not looking at Peter, as she continued her clipping.
Peter did not say anything for a moment. Then he asked, “Is that all?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Leonore, innocently. “Besides, someone might be looking out of a window.”
Peter calmly took hold of the basket to help Leonore sustain its enormous weight. “Let me help you carry it,” he said.
“Very well,” said Leonore. “But there’s no occasion to carry my hand too. I’m not decrepit.”
“I hoped I was helping you,” said Peter.