'"A full-blown rose," I said, with a saucy laugh. "Is that all you can give? There is nothing before it but to fall to pieces. Give me a rose that has not yet grown old; give me a bud, so that I can breathe upon it, and dream to what perfection it can come under my smile. As for this one, it is already drooping for death. We do not know whose kiss has bid it unwrap its leaves and left its heart so shamelessly visible to our eyes."
'He looked at me curiously a minute, and then turned away. Half doubtfully he pulled a bud and thrust it towards me. "This is a perfect bud," he said, moving to my side. "See what you can make of it." So he spoke, and I knew he was implying the young rose was his newly born love of me, so easily did he change.
'And even so soon did he come to me, and show how little worthy he was. I knew that at first it was the hunter's spirit that looked at me from his eyes, but as the days passed I saw that look die down and fade from his passionate gaze. The glance of the hunted animal took its place. "Save me," cried his sad eyes, following me always in despair, "I love you."
'And I with a laugh passed him by.
