“’S not tellin’ a story,” William informed his conscience. “I did meet her this mornin’ an’ I don’ know that she doesn’t want to see Ethel this afternoon. She prob’ly does.”
About quarter to three William came in from the garden carefully holding a rose. He wore his most inscrutable expression.
“I thought you might like to wear this, Ethel,” he said, “It goes nice with your dress.”
Ethel was touched.
“Thank you, William,” she said.
She watched him as he returned to the garden, humming discordantly.
She wondered if sometimes she misjudged William....
******
It was ten minutes past three. On the path by the river near Fisher’s Lock stood Mr. March with a red carnation in his button hole. Concealed in a tree just above his head were Ginger, Douglas, William and Joan.
Down the path by the river came Ethel wearing her red rose.