It is my father--what other man should I love ?" "Margaret!" he said in wrath, "you are fooling me." "How so?
What other man should I love--unless, indeed, it were yourself ?" "I can bear no more of this play," he said.

"Mistress Margaret, I bid you farewell.

God go with you!" And he brushed past her.
"Peter," she said when he had gone a few yards, "would you have these violets as a farewell gift ?" He turned and hesitated.
"Come, then, and take them." So back he came, and with little trembling fingers she began to fasten the flowers to his doublet, bending ever nearer as she fastened, until her breath played upon his face, and her hair brushed his bonnet.

Then, it matters not how, once more the violets fell to earth, and she sighed, and her hands fell also, and he put his strong arms round her and drew her to him and kissed her again and yet again on the hair and eyes and lips; nor did Margaret forbid him.
At length she thrust him from her and, taking him by the hand, led him to the seat beneath the elms, and bade him sit at one end of it, while she sat at the other.
"Peter," she whispered, "I wish to speak with you when I can get my breath.

Peter, you think poorly of me, do you not?
No--be silent; it is my turn to talk.