If she had, she would have been living at Rickfort now with Uncle George.
"Tita!" cries Maurice.
He has thrown up the window of his smoking-room, and is calling to her.
"Yes ?" She turns to him, her arms full of flowers, her vivacious little face, just like another sort of flower, peeping over them.
"Can you come in for a moment ?" "Why can't you come out?
_Do_, it is lovely here!" "I can if you like, but it will mean hauling out pencils and paper, and----" "Oh well, I'll come." She runs to him across the green, sweet grass, and, standing beneath the window, holds out her hands to him.
"You can't come in this way," says he.
"Can't I?
I wish I had a penny for every time I _did_ get in this way," says she.

"Here, give me your hands." He stoops to her, and catches her small brown hands in a close grip.
The new Lady Rylton plants a very shapely little foot against an excrescence in the wall, and in a second has her knee on the window-sill.
"After all, my mother was right," says Rylton, laughing.

"You are a hoyden." He takes the slight girlish figure in his arms, and swings her into the room.

She stands for a second looking at him with a rather thoughtful air.

Then-- "You mother may call me names if she likes," says she.