“You are unfortunate,” she answered gravely. “I should be thankful, I suppose, that my happiness is not reckoned by minutes.”
“Unberufen!” he cried.
“Unberufen!” she echoed. Then their glances met and they laughed together. He saw with relief that the dimples were not mere creations of his imagination; they were there, appearing and disappearing on the clear, soft cheeks. He held a withered spray of roses across the fence.
“You are prepared to fulfil your promise?” he asked.
“Are you sure I promised?”
“Absolutely!”
“I said perhaps.”
“Impossible! Do you imagine that I would have got out of bed at six o’clock this morning, bolted my breakfast, and waited here under this absurd tree for nearly an hour and a half unless I had been certain of the reward?”
