"If you were to give me a flower, I should not destroy it by wearing it in my coat!" said he. "Oh, merely a flower?" she asked. She went to the table. "Will this one do?" It was a white geranium that she handed him, simply enough: he took out his pocket-book, and carefully placed it between the leaves. For the briefest instant she regarded him as if in wonder that he should seek to preserve so worthless a trifle; but she made no remark; and then unconcernedly and cheerfully she led the way downstairs, and together they passed out into the open street. It was a marvellous and bewildering thing to think that he should be in sole and complete charge of her, here in the midst of the great and busy world of London. Did these hurrying people guess at his proud elation, his new-found sense of guardianship and responsibility, his anxiety that all things should be pleasant to her; or had they hardly time even to notice this beautiful young creature, her step light as a fawn, fresh colour in her fair cheeks, happiness radiant in her eyes? Perhaps they heeded her and the tall and handsome youth by her side as little as she heeded them; for indeed she seemed to be entirely engrossed in her companion, talking, smiling, replying to him without a shadow of self-consciousness or restraint. To him this new relationship was an amazing kind of thing: she did not seem even to perceive it. To him it was an epoch in his life, to be for ever remembered: to her—well, nearly every evening she walked out in similar fashion with her grandfather, and she did not appear to notice any difference: at least she showed no sign. But all at once Maisrie altered her manner; and that was when he in the lightness of his heart informed her that there was still a chance of their setting out on that long contemplated pilgrimage to the various poetic shrines of Scotland. "Mr. Harris," she said, proudly, "you made me a promise—" "Yes, I know I did," he said; "but things have changed, and I’m going to explain to you; and I think you’ll find everything satisfactory. But first of all, before I begin, I wish you wouldn’t call me ’Mr. Harris.’ It sounds detestable. You who are so natural and straightforward in all your ways—why don’t you call me Vincent?" "Don’t you think that Mr. Vincent might be a fair compromise?" she asked gently, and with her eyes lowered. "I’ve called you Maisrie once or twice, by accident, and you didn’t seem to mind," he pointed out. "I am sure I did not notice," she made answer at once. "How should I? I am used to nothing else." "Then I am to be allowed to call you Maisrie?" said he, clutching eagerly at this new-found privilege. "And you will call me Vincent—when you find Mr. Vincent become too formal: is it a compact?" "Yes, it is—Mr. Vincent—if you like," said she, with a smile. "But why do you make it so very serious?" "Because," said he, gravely, "when any solemn bargain is completed, people shake hands to make it secure."