"I do like it—I do—I do!" cried Carnation, agonised and affrayed.
"No, you don't!"
"Give it me, then—don't look!"
She turned her back upon him, and for a long moment her fingers were busy about her neck.
"Now!"
She faced about, the light of a showery April in her eyes. She was smiling and blushing at the same time. There was just a faint gleam of blue ribbon where the division of the white collar came in front of her throat.
John Charles recognised that the moment for which he had striven all through the winter had come. He stooped and kissed her where she stood. Then he turned on his heel and walked silently away, leaving her three times Carnation and a school-girl no more.
She watched him out of sight, the vivid blush slowly fading from her face, and then went demurely within.
"Where gat ye that ribbon wi' the wee guinea piece at the end o't?" said guardian Tibbie that night, suggestively.
"I know; but I promised not to tell!" quoth the witch, who indeed, twisted the shrewish-tongued old woman round her finger.