ty," he cried impulsively, "I was a fool! All night long I've
burned with anger at my folly, for I do know you could never be aught
but pure and maidenly no matter what you--you chanced to wear. So do I
come craving your forgiveness."

"O Major--Major Jack," she sighed, leaning towards him, all glowing
tenderness, "first hear me say you spoke me truth, it--it was
indeed--unworthy--a hoyden trick! But I have trod a different world to
you--a world of careless gaiety and idle chatter, where nought is
serious, reverence unknown and love itself a pastime. So I have loved
no man--save my brother Charles for we've been lonely all our
days--nay, Major John!" for he had caught her hand to his lips again.

"And I dared think you unmaidenly!" he murmured, in bitter
self-reproach.

"So would the mother I never knew had she seen me as--as poor Aunt
Belinda saw me--and yet--I vow 'twas monstrous laughable!" and my lady
hovered between laughter and tears.

"Am I forgiven?" he pleaded.

"Aye, most fully!"

"Why then--to prove it--will you ... would you----"

"Well, your honour?" she questioned humbly.

"Would you permit me to show you the rose-garden?"

"But I have seen it!"

"Aye to be sure, so you have!" he answered, a little dashed. "Though
the roses were scarce in bloom then."

"Truly I do love roses, Major Jack----"

"And they are in the full splendour of their beauty----"

"But--this wall?" she demurred. "And ... no ladder!"

He reached up eager arms. "O Major John!" she exclaimed and drew back,
blushing as rosily as the shyest maid that ever tripped in dairy.
"'Twould be so--so extreme unmaidenly--wouldn't it?" The Major flushed
and his arms dropped. "Though indeed I--do love roses!" she sighed.
The Major glanced up eagerly. "But 'tis so awkward and someone might
see----"

"Not a soul!" he assured her.

"Then ... if you'll turn your head a moment ... and are sure none can
spy ... and will be vastly careful ... and are quite, quite sure you
can manage----"

It was managed almost as she spoke, he with an assured adroitness, she
with such gracious ease that, in the same moment they were walking side
by side over the smooth turf, as calm and unruffled as any two people
ever were or will be. "'Tis a dear orchard, this!" she sighed,
stopping to pat the rough bark of a huge, gnarled apple-tree.

"'Twas here I first saw you," said he.

"Stealing your fruit!" she nodded.

"It seems long ago."

"And