"Honour!"
John Charles breathed so long a breath that it was almost a sigh. Carnation looked at him curiously.
"Why, you have grown a moustache," she said, smiling a quick, radiant smile.
"And you—you are different too. What is it?" he returned, gazing openly at her, as indeed he had been doing ever since they met. She turned her face piquantly towards him. It was like a flower. A faint perfume seemed to breathe about the boy, making his brain whirl.
"Not grown a moustache, anyway," Carnation said, tauntingly.
And she roguishly twirled imaginary tips between her finger and thumb.
"Let me see!" said John Charles, drawing nearer as if to examine into the facts.
"Oh, no," said Carnation hastily, fending him off with a glance, "I'm grown up now, and it's different! Besides——"
And she glanced behind her along the red-gray ribbon of dusty road, along which for lack of company the March dust was dancing little jigs of its own.
"Why different?" began John Charles, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets.