“You are not.  But you may carry the basket, since you want to hold something.”

“Very well,” said Peter meekly.

“Do you know,” said Leonore, as she snipped, and dropped roses into the basket, “you are not as obstinate as people say you are.”

“Don’t deceive yourself on that score,” said Peter.

“Well!  I mean you are not absolutely determined to have your own way.”

“I never give up my own views,” said Peter, “unless I can see more to be gained by so doing.  To that extent I am not at all obstinate.”

“Suppose,” said Leonore, “that you go and cut the roses on those furthest bushes while I go in and arrange these?”

“Suppose,” said Peter calmly, and with an evident lack of enthusiasm.

“Well.  Will you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“The motion to adjourn,” said Peter, “is never debatable.”

“Do you know,” said Leonore, “that you are beginning very badly?”

“That is what I have thought ever since I joined you.”

“Then why don’t you go away?”

“Why make bad, worse?”

“There,” said Leonore, “Your talking has made me cut my finger, almost.”

“Let me see,” said Peter, reaching out for her hand.

“I’m too busy,” said Leonore.

“Do you know,” said Peter, “that if you cut many more buds, you won’t have any more roses for a week.  You’ve cut twice as many roses as you usually do.”

“Then I’ll go in and arrange them.  I wish you would give Betise a run across the lawn.”

“I never run before breakfast,” said Peter.  “Doctors say it’s very bad.”

So he followed her in.  Leonore became tremendously occupied in arranging the flowers, Peter became tremendously occupied in watching her.

“You want to save one of those for me,” he said, presently.

“Take one,” said Leonore.

“My legal rule has been that I never take what I can get given me.  You can’t do less than pin it in my button-hole, considering that it is my birthday.”

“If I have a duty to do, I always get through with it at once,” said Leonore.  She picked out a rose, arranged the leaves as only womankind can, and, turning to Peter, pinned it in his button-hole.  But when she went to take her hands away, she found them held against the spot so firmly that she could feel the heart-beats underneath.

“Oh, please,” was all she said, appealingly, while Peter’s rose seemed to reflect some of its color on her cheeks.

“I don’t want you to give it to me if you don’t wish,” said Peter, simply.  “But last night I sat up late thinking about it.  All night I dreamed about it.  When I waked up this morning, I was thinking about it.  And I’ve thought about it ever since.  I can wait, but I’ve waited so long!”

Then Leonore, with very red cheeks, and a very timid manner, held her lips up to Peter.

“Still,” Leonore said presently, when again arranging of the roses, “since you’ve waited so long, you needn’t have been so slow about it when you did get it.”