She had just scrambled up a grassy slope near him, and had seen that the flower was out of reach.

As he prepared to approach it, she called to him eagerly to stop; the thing was impossible! Poor Rowland, whose passion had been terribly starved, enjoyed immensely the thought of having her care, for three minutes, what became of him.

He was the least brutal of men, but for a moment he was perfectly indifferent to her suffering.
"I can get the flower," he called to her.

"Will you trust me ?" "I don't want it; I would rather not have it!" she cried.
"Will you trust me ?" he repeated, looking at her.
She looked at him and then at the flower; he wondered whether she would shriek and swoon, as Miss Light had done.

"I wish it were something better!" she said simply; and then stood watching him, while he began to clamber.