But I've got it under." She sat there in silence a little, mopping her eyes.
"How I hate girls who cry!" she said.

"It is so dreadfully feeble! Look, Mike, there are some roses on that tree from which I plucked the one you didn't think much of.

Do you remember?
You crushed it up in my hand and made it bleed." He smiled.
"I have got some faint recollection of it," he said.
Sylvia had got hold of her courage again.
"Have you ?" she asked.

"What a wonderful memory.

And that quiet evening out here next day.