"'Twas nothing, what we did for you and your brother," said she.

She extended her hand as she spoke.

"As for the flower, I think--I think a rose is a sweet-pretty thing." She bent her cheek above the blossom, and whether the cheek or the petal were the redder, who should say?
If there were any ill at ease in that room, it was not Law of Lauriston.

He stood calm as though there by right.

It was an escapade, an adventure, without doubt, as both these young women saw plainly enough.