"Just—the b-beautiful—memory—you'll always have it too—of her—my mama—won't you, Leo? Won't you?"
"Always," he said, when the tight grip in his throat had eased enough.
"Say—it again—Leo."
"Always."
She could not know how dear she became to him then, because not ten minutes before, from the very lapel against which her cheek lay pressed, he had unpinned a white carnation.