“Please don’t,” she said; “I’m not sure that I am not compounding a felony.” “I’m convinced that you are needlessly alarmed,” he answered. “You have only presented me with what was yours to give.” But she shook her head. “Oh, no, not at all! I discovered you stealing”--this with awful emphasis--“my roses, and I came to your aid merely because I feared that if I did not you would have a sunstroke.” “Stealing is an unpleasant word,” he said tentatively. “Couldn’t you substitute borrowing?” “Borrowing?” The brown eyes opened very wide. “But I don’t believe it would be true.” “I give you my word,” he answered earnestly, “that I will return these to you as soon as I am done with them.” She leaned forward and plucked a withered leaf from a bush to hide the smile that trembled about her lips. [Illustration] “Have you--have you any idea when that will be?” she asked. [Illustration] “Indeed, yes, I can tell you to a minute!” “Can you?” “You shall have them back the very instant you give me some fresh ones.” “Oh!” She was still hunting for withered leaves. “Are you going to press them, then?” Burton acknowledged the _touché_ with a smile. “I had entertained hopes that you, with such a fabulous wealth of blossoms, would be charitable to one who has none,” he replied gravely. “Charity is only for the deserving.” She gave up her search and faced him again. “_Thieves_ are not worthy subjects.” “But a little charity might have the effect of reforming them. For example, if you were to present me each morning with a rose, there would remain no necessity for stealing.” [Illustration] She shook her head again. “Reform should come through repentance; that would be merely bribery.” “But in extreme cases,” he pleaded, “shouldn’t we consider the end rather than the means? Now, with such a hardened, desperate criminal as myself----” “Perhaps you are right,” she acknowledged. “And so you have permission to help yourself to a cluster of roses every day. You can reach them, you see, without trouble.” “Oh!” he said disappointedly. “But I shouldn’t want to do that; I fear I would damage the bushes.” “Not if you used scissors.” He made a pretence of searching his pockets. “I’m afraid I haven’t such a thing,” he said despondently. “I’m sure Mrs. Phillips will lend you a pair.” “You are taking an entirely wrong course with me,” he said sadly. “I feel that I shall never reform without some assistance; I haven’t enough moral courage. Now, if you would take a little interest in my case--to the extent of one rose, just a single, solitary rose now and then, you know--I’m sure I could lead a better life. Don’t you think that--er--you could?” A sheet of paper danced out to the path at her feet and she stooped and picked it up, crumpling it in her hand. “I’m afraid not,” she said. She dropped the crumpled paper into her basket and moved off up the path. Then she paused and turned. [Illustration]