“What should it be?” he asked wistfully.
“Spring, probably.”
“And nothing else?”
“Youth,” she answered, laughing.
“And nothing else?” he questioned, drawing close with a tenderness in his voice.
“How should I know?” she said, laughing and casting it down, because of her fear of the usual significance of the situation.
“You mustn’t throw it away,” he said stooping. “Keep it. I’ll tell you what it means. I—I——”
“See the wild roses!” she exclaimed, suddenly increasing her pace. “I should rather have some of those for a token, if you please.”
He relaxed his tension, and hastened for that which she desired. When he returned to hand them to her, she was laughing at something.
“Ah, you laugh,” he said sadly. “I think I know why.”