“Pardon me, _should_ was what I meant to say. I shall soon begin to think you a miser. Perhaps if I look out into the garden some moonlight night I shall see you here counting your roses, as a miser counts his gold.” She smiled at the picture he drew. Then, tossing some loose petals from her hand with a gesture of surrender,-- “Very well,” she said, “you shall have your one rose a day while you’re here. I reckon it won’t impoverish me, for no one never stays in Belle Harbour very long at a time--unless one lives here.” He thought there was just a suggestion of interrogation in the remark. “Don’t be too sure of that,” he replied. “I came down here for a fortnight, but I shan’t promise to go at the end of that period. You see, in New York I am not presented each day with a rose.” “You must be very fortunate to be able to make your business affairs secondary to your whims,” she said a little unkindly. “I am very fortunate,” he answered simply. “But to stay here in our poor little shabby town just for a handful of roses?” she persisted. “It sounds rather silly, doesn’t it?” [Illustration] “Have I said,” he asked gently, a smile hovering under his moustache, “that it was altogether the roses? When you are tired of having me come a-begging to your garden fence send--send Aunt Amanda out with my rose.” She laughed softly and caught up the skirt of her white gown in the hand that held the scissors. [Illustration] “I will remember,” she said. “Good morning.” “But my rose?” he cried in dismay. “To-morrow,” she answered mockingly, “if Aunt Amanda is not too busy.” She nodded and moved away towards the house. Burton gazed ruefully after her until the door had hidden her from his sight. Then he went back to his chair under the Daphne-tree, clasped his hands behind his head, tilted back and sighed ecstatically. [Illustration] Five minutes passed; ten; twenty. A lark high up in the magnolia-tree sang his shrill and florid melody to unheeding ears. The sun crept higher and higher until the shadow of the Daphne-tree reached the edge of the grass-plot. The bees rose and fell above the blossoms on invisible wings and humming-birds darted and poised along the tangle of honey-flowers. Suddenly Burton’s chair came down with a thud and he sat erect, a frown on his brow. [Illustration] “Were there,” he murmured, “or were there not dimples?” “I think I must be repentant,” he said the next morning. “I’ve been feeling strangely happy of late--in fact, ever since I saw you coming out of the house.” “Your repentance is not of very long standing,” she scoffed. “Don’t discourage me, please! Five minutes of time may be of little consequence, but five minutes of happiness is so uncommon as to be priceless.” “You are unfortunate,” she answered gravely. “I should be thankful, I suppose, that my happiness is not reckoned by minutes.” “Unberufen!” he cried.