“Then I’ll go in and arrange them. I wish you would give Bêtise a run across the lawn.”
“I never run before breakfast,” said Peter. “Doctors say it’s very bad.”
So he followed her in. Leonore became tremendously occupied in arranging the flowers, Peter became tremendously occupied in watching her.
“You want to save one of those for me,” he said, presently.
“Take one,” said Leonore.
“My legal rule has been that I never take what I can get given me. You can’t do less than pin it in my button-hole, considering that it is my birthday.”
“If I have a duty to do, I always get through with it at once,” said Leonore. She picked out a rose, arranged the leaves as only womankind can, and, turning to Peter, pinned it in his button-hole. But when she went to take her hands away, she found them held against the spot so firmly that she could feel the heart-beats underneath.
“Oh, please,” was all she said, appealingly, while Peter’s rose seemed to reflect some of its color on her cheeks.
“I don’t want you to give it to me if you don’t wish,” said Peter, simply. “But last night I sat up late thinking about it. All night I dreamed about it. When I waked up this morning, I was thinking about it. And I’ve thought about it ever since. I can wait, but I’ve waited so long!”
Then Leonore, with very red cheeks, and a very timid manner, held her lips up to Peter.