“Very well.”

She went to the drawer that contained all her souvenirs of Mr. Lindsay, and lingered some minutes, looking sorrowfully at the photograph; then passed her lips to the melancholy image, and as if strengthened by communion with the dead face, went down to the library.

Mr. Palma was walking slowly up and down the long room, and had paused in front of the snowy azalea.  As she approached he put out his hand and took hers, for the first time since they had sat together in the Park.

“How deliciously this perfumes the room, and it must be yours, for no other member of the household cares for flowers, and I see a cluster of the same blossoms in your hair.”

“I had forgotten that Olga fastened them there this afternoon.  I bought it from the greenhouse in ——­ Street, where I often get bouquets to place under mother’s picture.  Azaleas were Mr. Lindsay’s favourite flowers, and that fact tempted me to make the purchase.  We had just such a one as this at the parsonage, and on his birthday we covered the pot with white cambric, fringed the edge with violets, and set it in the centre of the breakfast-table; and the bees came in and swung over it.”

She had withdrawn her hand, and folding her fingers, leaned her face on them, a position which she often assumed when troubled.  Her left hand was uppermost, and the opal and diamonds seemed pressed against her lips, though she was unconscious of their close proximity.  Mr. Palma broke off a cluster of three half-expanded flowers, twisted the stem into the buttonhole of his coat, and answered coldly: 

“Flowers are always associated in my mind with early recollections of my mother, who had her own greenhouse and conservatories.  They appear to link you with the home of your former guardian, and the days that were happier than those you speed here.”

“That dear parsonage was my happiest home, and I shall always cherish its precious memories.”

“Happier than a residence under my roof has been?  Be so good as to look at me; it is the merest courtesy to do so, when one is being spoken to.”

“Pardon me, sir, I was not instituting a comparison; and while I am grateful for the kindness and considerate hospitality shown me by all in this pleasant house, it has never seemed to me quite the home that I found the dear old parsonage.”

“Because you prefer country to city life?  Love to fondle white rabbits, and pigeons, and stand ankle deep in clover blooms?”

“I daresay that is one reason; for my tastes are certainly very childish still.”

“Then of course you regret the necessity which brought you to reside here?”

He bent an unusually keen look upon her, but she quietly met his eyes, and answered without hesitation: 

“You must forgive me, sir, if your questions compel me to sacrifice courtesy to candour.  I do regret that I ever came to live in this city; and I believe it would have been better for me, if I had remained at V——­ with Mr. Hargrove and the Lindsays.”