"Don't you want to take a sail?" asked the Greek youth of his fair
companion.
"Oh, no, indeed, thank you. I must leave that for the others."
"You must?" and he accented the last word, as if to penetrate her
disguise by this act of deference to the "others."
"Oh, well," she answered hesitatingly, "I never did care much for
sailing, to tell the truth--especially in a--tub. I prefer a place
where there is at least room in which to dip my hands."
"Then let us walk," he suggested. "I am anxious to see all over the
grounds. Aren't they splendid? Just see that cave formed by the
cedars, back of the lighted path. I declare' this place looks like a
real fairyland to-night."
"I am glad you like it," replied the girl. "I--er--" She clapped
her dainty hand over her masked mouth. She was near to betraying her
identity.
"Like it?" he repeated. "How could I do otherwise? But in all this
human garden there is no fairer flower than--Rosebud," and he
brought her hand reverently to his lips.
"Oh! You--you mustn't be too--too gay!" she expostulated, but she
laughed as she said it. "You know the patronesses have specified--"
"There!" he exclaimed, interrupting her. "It's all right, Rosebud,"
and he tucked her arm within his own.
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