So Peter turned the little soft palm uppermost and kissed it Then he forgot the cigar and Watts. He went to his room, and thought of—of his birthday gift. CHAPTER LIX. “GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY.” If Peter had roamed about the hall that evening, he was still more restless the next morning. He was down early, though for no apparent reason, and did nothing but pass from hall to room, and room to hall, spending most of his time in the latter, however. How Leonore could have got from her room into the garden without Peter’s seeing her was a question which puzzled him not a little, when, by a chance glance out of a window, he saw that personage clipping roses off the bushes. He did not have time to spare, however, to reason out an explanation. He merely stopped roaming, and went out to—to the roses. “Good-morning,” said Leonore pleasantly, though not looking at Peter, as she continued her clipping. Peter did not say anything for a moment. Then he asked, “Is that all?” “I don’t know what you mean,” said Leonore, innocently. “Besides, someone might be looking out of a window.” Peter calmly took hold of the basket to help Leonore sustain its enormous weight. “Let me help you carry it,” he said. “Very well,” said Leonore. “But there’s no occasion to carry my hand too. I’m not decrepit.” “I hoped I was helping you,” said Peter. “You are not. But you may carry the basket, since you want to hold something.” “Very well,” said Peter meekly. “Do you know,” said Leonore, as she snipped, and dropped roses into the basket, “you are not as obstinate as people say you are.” “Don’t deceive yourself on that score,” said Peter. “Well! I mean you are not absolutely determined to have your own way.” “I never give up my own views,” said Peter, “unless I can see more to be gained by so doing. To that extent I am not at all obstinate.” “Suppose,” said Leonore, “that you go and cut the roses on those furthest bushes while I go in and arrange these?” “Suppose,” said Peter calmly, and with an evident lack of enthusiasm. “Well. Will you?” “No.” “Why not?” “The motion to adjourn,” said Peter, “is never debatable.” “Do you know,” said Leonore, “that you are beginning very badly?” “That is what I have thought ever since I joined you.” “Then why don’t you go away?” “Why make bad, worse?” “There,” said Leonore, “Your talking has made me cut my finger, almost.” “Let me see,” said Peter, reaching out for her hand. “I’m too busy,” said Leonore. “Do you know,” said Peter, “that if you cut many more buds, you won’t have any more roses for a week. You’ve cut twice as many roses as you usually do.” “Then I’ll go in and arrange them. I wish you would give Bêtise a run across the lawn.” “I never run before breakfast,” said Peter. “Doctors say it’s very bad.” So he followed her in. Leonore became tremendously occupied in arranging the flowers, Peter became tremendously occupied in watching her.