. ’ He smiled down at her. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. Why, is the question I would like answered. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. “Why?” He inquired. ‘Never fear, my love. ” He said. My little maidservant will think that I am lost. I should like to have had you forgive me. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. Here's a nosegay for you, my love," she continued, opening her basket, and presenting a fragrant bunch of flowers to Winifred, "if your mother will allow me to give it you. ” “Very well. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground.
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