I had been for a walk on the common, which was not fifteen minutes distant from the station. Mother often sent me there "for a blow," if she thought me looking pale. We did get lovely breezes up on the common, that seemed to come straight from the sea, though the sea was miles away. Sometimes I used to fancy I could taste salt on my lips, when the wind blew hard. I had been all the way across to the other side and back, gathering a great bunch of the wild roses which grew on the hedge surrounding part of the common. Mother was so fond of wild roses. When I got near home, Rupert came up. He had been to his home for tea, and was on his way back to the station, so he joined me. It was natural he should: he and I were so much together. I had always been fond of Rupert, and he was always good to me. You see, I had no brothers or sisters of my own, and Rupert had only one sickly sister called Mabel,—much too fine a name for such a poor fretful thing! Not many people cared for Mabel Bowman; and though Rupert was in a way fond of her, he thought much more of me. I think I liked to know this. It was nice to feel that he would do anything in the world for my sake. And yet I should have liked Rupert to be different in many ways from what he was. I used to wish him handsome and clever, instead of plain and awkward and dull. Everybody said he was such a good fellow, and that was true; but I was silly, and cared more for looks. Still I did not at all mind having him for my humble slave, and being able to order him about. Well, he came up to me that day, and said something about my bunch of roses. "They are like you, Kitty," he says. "I don't see it," said I. "No, of course you don't; you can't see yourself," Rupert answered humbly, though in a sort of tone as if he was sure. "Look!" and he touched a pink blossom with his big hand. I snatched it away, for I thought he would crush the delicate thing; and I always did tease Rupert for his clumsiness whenever I had a chance. He didn't seem to mind, commonly. "Kitty, you needn't be afraid," he said in a hurt voice. "You don't think I'd be rough with anything you care for?" "I don't know. How can I tell?" I asked. "You needn't handle my roses, any way. Don't you know you always smash whatever you take hold of." "Not if it's yours, Kitty," says he. "Oh, that don't make any difference," says I. "It's having such great huge fingers." "I'd make them small if I could, but I can't," said he dolefully. "You can't help it, of course; but you can help spoiling my nosegay," I said. Then I saw he really was put out at what I said, and I peeped up at him under my eyelashes in a way he called shy. It wasn't shy really. I knew I could come round Rupert in a moment with that peep. "There, never mind," I said; "you needn't care. Nobody is ever cross with me, and you know I don't mean anything." "There never was anybody like you, Kitty," says he, ready to forgive in a moment.