A wave of the azalea scent drifted into June’s face; she felt sick and dizzy.

“Do! ah! do!”

“But why?”

“I must see you there⁠—I thought you’d like to help me.⁠ ⁠…”

The answer seemed to the girl to come softly with a tremble from amongst the blossoms: “So I do!”

And she stepped into the open space of the window.

“How stuffy it is here!” she said; “I can’t bear this scent!”

Her eyes, so angry and direct, swept both their faces.

“Were you talking about the house? I haven’t seen it yet, you know⁠—shall we all go on Sunday?”