He took a small pocket-book from his coat, and turned over the leaves until he came to a little crushed blue object lying between them.
“Do you know this?” he asked, holding out the book.
She took it with all the pleasure a woman feels in handling the possessions of a man in whom she is interested.
“Ah, yes, that is mine,” she exclaimed, flushing as she recognized the flower.
“It was,” said Harry, “but it is mine now.”
“Well, really!”
“But may I keep it?”
She turned away her head. “You are very foolish, Mr. Fenton.”
“I do not mind that.”
Isoline took the forget-me-not up between her finger and thumb and twirled it round; then she leaned forward, holding it out above the flame, and looking over her shoulder at her companion.