“But to stay here in our poor little shabby town just for a handful of roses?” she persisted. “It sounds rather silly, doesn’t it?”
“Have I said,” he asked gently, a smile hovering under his moustache, “that it was altogether the roses? When you are tired of having me come a-begging to your garden fence send—send Aunt Amanda out with my rose.”
She laughed softly and caught up the skirt of her white gown in the hand that held the scissors.
“I will remember,” she said. “Good morning.”
“But my rose?” he cried in dismay.
“To-morrow,” she answered mockingly, “if Aunt Amanda is not too busy.”
She nodded and moved away towards the house.