"It may be play to you; it isn't to me," he said, his voice shaking a little. "Did you get the letter I wrote?" "I don't know; I forget. I had a lot of letters. Yes, I expect I did." "And you didn't trouble to answer it?" "It's clear you don't know what a lot a lady's maid has to do when she's travelling," said Rose, petulantly. "It's 'Lancaster' here and 'Lancaster' there, and you've no sooner packed up than you begin unpacking again. What time should I get for answering letters?'" "I wanted to know if you'd thought over what I said?" "You can't expect me to remember what you said six weeks ago." "You do remember, only you don't want to give a straight answer. That's about it," said Tom, bitterly. "I like walking with you both, though not together. There!" cried Rose, with a defiant toss of her head. "I'm young; I don't mean to be tied!" "But you'll care for the one who loves you best, and that's me!" burst out poor Tom. "Dixon may be smarter, and he's a deal better off; but he's a glib sneak, and I know it. I'll wait three months, and then I'll have my answer; and if it's 'No' I'll be fit to drown myself," and Tom's voice broke off in something very like a sob. Rose was flattered but frightened at realizing her power over the lad. It was like a book, that he should threaten to drown himself for love of her; but of course he did not mean it. She was sorry for him; when she was with him she almost believed she loved him, but at any rate she need not decide now. Three months hence she might know her own mind. "Well, we'll wait three months and see what happens; and meantime I do hope you'll be careful not to quarrel with Dixon." "I shall if he comes in my way," declared Tom, sturdily. "I don't wonder he wants you himself--any man would; but he should play fair." "He's no quarrel with you; he said you were a decent sort of a lad, the other day." Tom clenched his fist involuntarily. "That's just it!--he's always trying to run me down in your eyes. A lad, indeed! I'm a man who wants the same girl he does, and that's yourself, Rose." Rose laughed gaily; it was nice to find herself so much in request. "Man or boy, I can't stay talking to you all day. Pick me any roses there are, and let me go. I believe" (in a lowered undertone) "that I hear the ladies talking up there on the bowling-green. They've come out to sit in the shade, I expect." Rose's conjecture was right, for, as she went back to the house, she caught a glimpse of Miss Webster and her mother seated under the large tree at the far end of the lawn. "How pretty she is," said May Webster, following her retreating figure with lazy eyes. "As pretty as the roses she carries. I do hope she won't get snapped up at once. She is a pleasant little thing to have about one--which reminds me, mother. I saw a pretty girl of a different type in the village yesterday, whom I believe to be Miss Lessing. What are you going to do about her and her brother?"