all my happiness," she said. "You will
spoil it all if you call me frivolous."

"I will call you only fair then."

"The fact is," continued Myrrha, " I
am so happy to-day that I want to be still
happier."

"Insatiable human nature. Let us hope
that, as you are beginning to be tired, the
cup of tea, of which we are in pursuit,
will, by refreshing you, increase and
prolong your happiness."

"I won't be shut up in that way, Mr.
Stewart," said Myrrha, pouting, and giving
the arm her hand was on a sharp pinch.
"A cup of tea is a good thing, and I shall
be glad to have it, but I want more than
that. I want to know, just really and
truly, that you don't dislike, or altogether
despise, me."

"My dear young lady! your thoughts
and your words are wild! Dislike you!
despise you! Why should I, how could I,
do either? I dislike you, and despise you,
as much as I should dislike and despise
some lovely flower because it did not happen
to be my favourite among all flowers."

Poor Myrrha paused. She was quick
enough to feel to the full all that was
hidden in this answer.

"Have you a favourite flower, Mr.
Stewart?" she asked, after that pause.

"The flower that was Chaucer's worship
is mine."

Myrrha' s "Ah!" was so significant and
intelligent, that he felt sure she was in the
dark as to what he meant.

"You remember, no doubt," he went on,
"Chaucer's account of how he used to rise
early, and go far, to see the first sunbeams
fall on his favourite, and of how he would
spend a day content lying on the grass
encircling his flower with his arms?"

A thrill in Mr. Stewart's voice perplexed
Myrrha; she looked up into his face, and
saw a strange light there.

With a vague recollection of having heard
of Chaucer's Romaunt of the Rose, Myrrha
said, after a few seconds of reflection: "Now
I shall know of whom to feel jealous. I
shall look out for your rose."

"The rose is such a universal favourite,
Myrrha! Would you have thought me the
man to worship at the shrine at which all
offer homage?"

"I don't know that I understand you
to-day. Tell me what flower you would
give me as my emblem?"

"Let me see!" He looked at her
investigatingly. "If you will come to the
conservatory, I will show you a new geranium,
the 'bride!' to which it seems to me, you,
in that delicate dress, bear a wonderful
resemblance."

"Well," said Myrrha, after looking at
the flower, " it's pretty enough, but it has
no sweetness; and— do you care for
geraniums, Mr. Stewart?" looking up into his
face wistfully.

" 'Care for' is one of those indefinite
feminine expressions a man doesn't exactly
appreciate. I admire the 'bride.' Who could
help admiring such an exquisite creature?"

Then they passed from the conservatory
into a room where a stately elderly lady,
his housekeeper, was dispensing tea.

"This is a charming room!" exclaimed
Myrrha. "Just a little lightening up, and
it would make the most delightful ladies'
morning-room.”

"When the 'bride' comes to Redcombe,
if, indeed, she ever comes, she will make
many alterations, doubtless. I leave the
whole place alone till she issues her
commands."

Myrrha looked at Mr. Stewart, then
looked down; she wished to blush, but her
delicate complexion was not of the blushing
sort.

Other people came and went, and Myrrha
kept Mr. Stewart at her side, engaging
him in a half-sentimental war of words,
speaking low, so that he might need to
bend down to hear her, conscious that
elderly ladies watched them curiously, and
young ladies watched them enviously;
leaning back in that "delicious" chair,
Myrrha was lazily happy. The eyes raised
to Mr. Stewart's had a soft languor in them
which rather startled him; he did not
believe in much real softness in Myrrha;
he had judged her nature to be rather cold
and hard, and, as it were, thin; yet,
perhaps, he was mildly flattered at the marked
preference of a creature so young and so
lovely. "Marked preference for Redcombe
over any other home of which she has
believed she had the chance," Mr. Stewart
inwardly commented. But perhaps the
cynicism of the comment was somewhat
forced.

Myrrha kept her position, and so kept
Mr. Stewart beside her till she fancied she
saw signs of restlessness and of wandering
attention; then she said:

"Mr. Stewart, don't you think poor dear
Aunt Daisy will feel neglected if we don't
go and look for her?"

This "poor dear Aunt Daisy" annoyed
Mr. Stewart. " I have, for some time, been
wishing to rejoin her," he answered.