“Oh!” he said disappointedly. “But I shouldn’t want to do that; I fear I would damage the bushes.”
“Not if you used scissors.”
He made a pretence of searching his pockets.
“I’m afraid I haven’t such a thing,” he said despondently.
“I’m sure Mrs. Phillips will lend you a pair.”
“You are taking an entirely wrong course with me,” he said sadly. “I feel that I shall never reform without some assistance; I haven’t enough moral courage. Now, if you would take a little interest in my case—to the extent of one rose, just a single, solitary rose now and then, you know—I’m sure I could lead a better life. Don’t you think that—er—you could?”
A sheet of paper danced out to the path at her feet and she stooped and picked it up, crumpling it in her hand.
“I’m afraid not,” she said.
She dropped the crumpled paper into her basket and moved off up the path. Then she paused and turned.