“No; that's the worst of it. If she were, I should introduce you, just to see if you'd dare. Well, some other time I will.”
“You think there'll be some other time?” Jeff asked.
“I don't know. There are all kinds of times. By-the-way, what time is it?”
Jeff looked at his watch. “Quarter after six.”
“Then I must go.” She jumped to her feet, and faced about for a glimpse of herself in the little glass on the mantel, and put her hand on the large pink roses massed at her waist. One heavy bud dropped from its stem to the floor, where, while she stood, the edge of her skirt pulled and pushed it. She moved a little aside to peer over at a photograph. Jeff stooped and picked up the flower, which he offered her.
“You dropped it,” he said, bowing over it.
“Did I?” She looked at it with an effect of surprise and doubt.
“I thought so, but if you don't, I shall keep it.”
The girl removed her careless eyes from it. “When they break off so short, they won't go back.”
“If I were a rose, I should want to go back,” said Jeff.