“But,” said I, “the two flowers are not of the same shape or colour; and, though I am not learned in botany, I should say hardly belong to the same family.”

“No,” she said.  “But with care, and with proper management of our electric apparatus, I accomplished this year a change almost as great.  I can show you in my flower-bed one little white flower, of no great beauty and conical in shape, from which I have produced in two years another, saucer-shaped, pink, and of thrice the size, almost exactly realising an imaginary flower, drawn by my sister-in-law to represent one of which she had dreamed.  We can often produce the very shape, size, and colour we wish from something that at first seems to have no likeness to it whatever; and I have been told that a skilful farmer will often obtain a fruit, or, what is more difficult, an animal, to answer exactly the ideal he has formed.”

“Some of our breeders,” I said, “profess to develop a sort of ideal of any given species; but it takes many generations, by picking and choosing those that vary in the right direction, to accomplish anything of the kind; and, after all, the difference between the original and the improved form is mere development, not essential change.”

She hardly seemed to understand this, but answered—­

“The seedling or rootlet would be just like the original plant, if we did not from the first control its growth by means of our electric frames.  But if you will allow me, I will show you to-morrow what I have done in my own flower-bed, and you will have opportunities of seeing afterwards how very much more is done by agriculturists with much more time and much more potent electricities.”

“At any rate,” I said, “if I had known your object, you certainly should have had the flowers for which you risked so much:  and if I remain here three days longer, I promise you plenty of specimens for your experiment.”

“You do not mean to go back to the Astronaut?” she asked, with an air of absolute consternation.

“I had not intended to do so,” I replied, “for it seems to be perfectly safe under your father’s seal and your stringent laws of property.  But now, if time permit, I must get these flowers to which you tell me I am so deeply indebted.”

“You are very kind,” returned Eveena earnestly, “but I entreat you not to venture there again.  I should be utterly miserable while you were running such a risk again, and for such a trifle.”

“It is no such terrible risk to me, and to please you is not quite a trifle.  Besides, I ought to deserve my prize better than I have yet done.  But you seem to have some especial spite against the unlucky vessel that brought me here; and that,” I added, smiling, “seems hardly gracious in a bride of an hour.”

“No, no!” she murmured, evidently much distressed; “but the vessel that brought you here may take you away.”

“I will not pain you yet by saying that I hope it may.  At all events, it shall not do so till you are content that it should.”