leaves.

But Cyril withheld them.

'Let me carry them for you,' he returned, evidently trying to speak as
usual; but his voice was not quite in order. 'I know where you are
going--to that pretty, old-fashioned cottage with the jasmine-covered
porch; it is not far, and I have not seen you for so long.' Then he
stopped suddenly, as though something in Audrey's manner arrested him.
'That is, if you do not object,' he finished, with a pleading look.

But for once Audrey was obdurate.

'Thank you, I would rather carry them myself. There is no need to take
you out of your way.'

Audrey felt that her tone was cold--that she was utterly unlike herself;
but her one thought was to get rid of him. But she need not have feared
Cyril's importunity. He drew back at once, and put the leaves in her
hand without speaking; but he turned very pale, and there was a hurt
look in his eyes. Audrey put out her hand to him, but he did not seem to
see it; he only muttered something that sounded like 'Good-morning,' as
he lifted his cap and went back to the gate. Audrey walked on very fast,
but her cheeks would not cool, and a miserable feeling of discomfort
harassed her. She was vexed with him, but still more with herself. Why
need she have taken alarm so quickly? It was not like her to be so
missish and disagreeable. Why had she been so cold, so unfriendly, just
because he seemed a little too pleased to see her?

And now she had hurt him terribly--she was quite sure of that--she who
never willingly offended anyone. He had been too proud, too gentlemanly,
to obtrude himself where he was evidently not wanted; but his pained,
reproachful look as he drew back would haunt her for the rest of the
day. And, then, how splendidly handsome he had looked! She had once
likened him to a Greek god, but it may be doubted whether even the
youthful Apollo had seemed more absolutely perfect when he revealed
himself in human form to some Athenian votary, than Cyril Blake in the
glory of his young manhood. Audrey had not recognised this so keenly
before.

'I must make it up to him somehow. I cannot bear to quarrel with anyone.
I would rather do anything than hurt his feelings,' she thought; and it
needed all her excellent common-sense to prevent her from running back
to say a kind word to him.

'I was in a hurry--I was too abrupt; I did not mean to be unkind'--this
was what she longed to say to him. 'Please come with me as far as the
cottage, and tell me