Gaily she acquiesced, and he helped her down. When the servant was out of hearing, he reached for a dandelion, and pressing his lips to it said, “Here is a token.” “Of what?” she said shyly. “What should it be?” he asked wistfully. “Spring, probably.” “And nothing else?” “Youth,” she answered, laughing. “And nothing else?” he questioned, drawing close with a tenderness in his voice. “How should I know?” she said, laughing and casting it down, because of her fear of the usual significance of the situation. “You mustn’t throw it away,” he said stooping. “Keep it. I’ll tell you what it means. I--I----” “See the wild roses!” she exclaimed, suddenly increasing her pace. “I should rather have some of those for a token, if you please.” He relaxed his tension, and hastened for that which she desired. When he returned to hand them to her, she was laughing at something. “Ah, you laugh,” he said sadly. “I think I know why.” “It is because of the day,” she answered. Somehow he could make no progress with his declaration until it was too late. Already they were near the carriage, and south along the road a quarter of a mile was the Lispenard country house. Her relatives, the Lispenards, were there as owners. He scarcely had time for what he wished to say. “Shall we stop there?” he asked in a subdued murmur, as in driving again they neared the long piazza where guests were seated enjoying the prospect of the meadows beyond. “It is four now, and the play begins at six. There are some new jewels from France at Maton’s, which I thought you might like to see before then.” “Jewels from France! Oh, yes, I should like to see those. Let us go there,” she answered. “But I must have time to dress, too, you know.” To the guests then, bowing as they passed, they returned a smiling nod, and meeting others in carriages and chairs, extended this same courtesy as they went along. Walton brooded in a mock-dreary manner, but finding that it availed nothing thought to tempt her considerateness with jewels. “What trinkets are these you have from France of which I hear?” he inquired of Maton as they entered that sturdy jeweler’s shop in Maiden Lane. “On the very last packet,” explained the latter, spreading the best of his importations upon a black velvet cloth before them. “You will not see the like of these six diamonds in New York again for many years, I warrant you. Look at this.” He held up an exquisitely wrought ring of French workmanship, in which a fine stone was gleaming, and smiled upon it approvingly. “Look,” he said, “it is very large. It is cut by Toussard. Did you ever see such workmanship?” He turned it over and over, and then held it lovingly up. “The band itself is so small,” he added, “that I believe it would fit the lady’s finger--let us see.” Coquettishly she put out her hand, and then seeing that it marvelously slipped on and fitted, opened her eyes wide.