"You are not to take that out until it withers, Paul," she said,
laughing and shaking a threatening finger at him. "Do you know what it
means,--a rosebud? I don't believe you do, for all your Greek. It means
'confession of love;' and I _do_ love you,--I do, I do."

"I know you do, my darling," he said gently; "and it shall stay
there--till it withers. But that will not be long. I stopped to tell you
that I cannot go with you this afternoon; but you must not disappoint
Mr. Symington. I met him just now, and told him I should be detained,
but that you would go."

"You had no right to say so without asking me first," she said sharply.
"I don't wish to go. I _won't_ go without you. There!"

He was silent, but his deep, kind eyes were fixed pityingly upon her
flushed, excited face.

She dropped it on his arm and burst into tears, and he stroked her hair
gently, as if she had been a little child and he a patient, loving
father. She raised her face presently, smiling, though her lips still
quivered.

"Do you really and truly wish me to go with--this afternoon?"

It seemed to him that for a full minute he could not speak, but in
reality the pause was so brief that she did not notice it.

"Yes," he said quietly, "I really and truly do. It would not be fair to
disappoint Mr. Symington, after making the engagement."