"How long ago it seems, John. It must have been the first June after you appeared in that amazing cap and—the cane I have it yet. Let's fight violets. It may have a charm to make me look young again—I feel so old sometimes."
Intent on her game, she was already gathering the flowers in her lap, while the young man a little puzzled and a little amused watched the face which she described for his benefit as needing to look young. She ran on gaily, "You will pick five and I will pick five. I never heard of any other children fighting violets. It is a neglected branch of education. I got it from the Westways children. Now, fair play, John Penhallow." He was carelessly taking his five violets, while Leila was testing hers, choosing them with care. The charm she sought was working—they were children again.
"That's not fair, Leila."
"Why not?"
"You are testing yours. It is a mean advantage. I would scorn to do such a thing. It is just like a woman—the way you do about dress. All women ought to dress alike—then the competition would be fair."
Leila looked up from her lap full of violets. "I should like to see your Miss Ramsay in one of my gowns."
"My Miss Ramsay! No such luck."
"You're a goose, Jack."
"You're a silly, Leila."
"Oh, now, we are children, John. This is the magic of the June violets."