“Indeed!—­all sorts, I suppose.”

“Yes, a variety, and just now three charming young women from the South.”

“Rather a strong adjective—­charming.  I might hesitate to apply it to a whole flock.  I think men are more apt to use it than women.”

“I stand by my adjective.  Take care of your laurels, Miss Grey.  I am lucky enough to have two dances with Miss Ramsay.  Her brother is a cadet.”

“Introduce him to me.  What myriads of violets!”

“Do you remember how, when we were small, we used to fight violets?”

“How long ago it seems, John.  It must have been the first June after you appeared in that amazing cap and—­the cane I have it yet.  Let’s fight violets.  It may have a charm to make me look young again—­I feel so old sometimes.”

Intent on her game, she was already gathering the flowers in her lap, while the young man a little puzzled and a little amused watched the face which she described for his benefit as needing to look young.  She ran on gaily, “You will pick five and I will pick five.  I never heard of any other children fighting violets.  It is a neglected branch of education.  I got it from the Westways children.  Now, fair play, John Penhallow.”  He was carelessly taking his five violets, while Leila was testing hers, choosing them with care.  The charm she sought was working—­they were children again.

“That’s not fair, Leila.”

“Why not?”

“You are testing yours.  It is a mean advantage.  I would scorn to do such a thing.  It is just like a woman—­the way you do about dress.  All women ought to dress alike—­then the competition would be fair.”

Leila looked up from her lap full of violets.  “I should like to see your Miss Ramsay in one of my gowns.”

“My Miss Ramsay!  No such luck.”

“You’re a goose, Jack.”

“You’re a silly, Leila.”

“Oh, now, we are children, John.  This is the magic of the June violets.”

“And you are just fourteen, Leila.  The wrinkles of age are gone—­they used to be dimples.”

“Nonsense!  Let’s play.”

They hooked together the bent stems of the flowers.  Then there was a quick jerk, and one violet was decapitated.  “One for you, Leila;—­and another.”

“You are not paying any attention to the game.  Please to keep young a little while.”  He was watching the sunlight as it fell upon her neck when it bent over the flowers.

“And how am I to keep young, Miss Grey?”

“Oh, any woman can answer that—­ask Miss Ramsay.”

“I will.  There! you have won, Leila, three to two.  There used always to be a forfeit.  What must I pay?”

“Now, John, what terrible task shall I put upon you?  I have it.  You shall ask me to give you the third dance.”

“That is Miss Ramsay’s.  I am sorry.”

“Oh, one girl is as good as another.”

“Perhaps—­for women.”  He did not ask of her any other dances.  “But really, Leila, the better bred of these Southern girls we see here are most pleasant acquaintances, more socially easy of acquaintance than Northern girls.  As they are butterflies of the hour—­their frank ways are valuable in what you call our monastery.”