“I know, without seeing, that it cannot be.” “If you will come and look, Kitty, you will see that just where the daffies were, there the peninks are now. When the daffies die down, the peninks bloom.” “Exactly, Jan, because their time for blooming is a month later than the daffodils.” “But they come out of the same roots.” “That cannot be, by any means.” Pooke rubbed his head, and said humbly, “I know, Kitty, I’m a duffer, and that you’re clever, but I’ve seen ’em with my own eyes.” “Have you ever dug up the bulbs?” “No, I can’t say I have done that.” “Till you have, you cannot say that the golden flower and the silver flower spring from one root.” “It isn’t only the peninks, Kitty—can’t you understand?” “I do not. You are very wonderful to-day.” “I want to talk to you in the orchard.” “You can say what it is, here.” “No, I cannot. I want to show you the silver peninks, and I want to say”—he let go her hand, with which he had been sawing. Kate looked round. It would be considerate to leave the poor woman alone with her children to get settled into her new quarters, and she desired to escape another outburst of gratitude. “Well, Jan, I will go and look at the flowers, and I hope to show you your mistake—the withered heads of daffodil apart from the bursting bud of the penink.” The two young people walked together down the lane to the gate into the orchard. Jan threw this open, and Kate, without hesitation, stepped in. “Now,” said Jan, “I said it was not the peninks.” “What is not the peninks—the daffodils? I thought you said that the one plant was the same which throws up yellow flowers and white ones.” “You try not to understand me, Kitty.” “I am trying hard to understand you, Jan.” “Look here,” he exclaimed, letting go the gate. Kate did as desired; she looked him full in the face. His mouth was twitching. “Tell me, Kate”— She waited for him to conclude the sentence, and as he did not, she asked him gently what it was that he desired her to tell him. “You know already what I mean,” he exclaimed, breathing short and quick. Kate shook her head. “Look here, Kitty. My father has given his consent at last, and I am going to be married.” “I am so glad to hear it, Jan.” “Kate, you tease me. You—you”— “Indeed, I wish you all happiness.” “That I can only have with you.” “With me?” Kate was frightened, drew back, and fixed her great, dark blue, tranquil eyes on him. The sweat rolled off his brow. “Oh, Jan! What do you mean?” “You know what I mean. You shall be my missus.” “Jan—that cannot be.” “Why not? Give me your hand—no, give me both.” “I cannot do that.” A pause ensued. “Kitty, you don’t care for me?” “I do care for you, Jan.” “Then love me—take me. Sister Sue will be so pleased.” “I cannot do it, Jan, even for sister Sue.” “You cannot love me?” he gasped, and his face lost its colour. “Oh, Kitty, since we were in the boat together I have thought only of you.” “And before that, of Rose. Was it not so?”