Then they turned back leisurely toward the house. At one spot, under a great linden tree, was the basin of a fountain, all yellow and choked with the trailing arbutus, which grew with the wild profusion that marks it in the depth of the woods. The fountain was long since gone. Pembroke plucked some of the arbutus and handed it to Olivia, taking from her the dogwood branch at the same time and throwing it away.
"The arbutus has a perfume—the dogwood has none—and a flower without perfume is like a woman without sentiment," he said gayly. As they stood still for a moment, Olivia suddenly exclaimed to Pembroke:
"Oh, I remember something about this fountain—don't you?" Then they both began to laugh.
"What is it?" asked Cave.
"I was staying here once with mamma, when I was a little girl—"
"I picked you up and held you over the basin to scare you."
"And dropped me in, and—"
"Went gallantly to the rescue and dragged you out—"
"And your mother sent you to bed without your dinner."
"I remember thinking you were the most comical looking object I ever saw with your curls dripping, and I was particularly amused at the chattering of your teeth. What remorseless wretches boys are!"
