“Oh, no, sir, she wouldn’t mind.  Miss Lloyd’s awful kind about such things.  But I wouldn’t often do it, sir.”

“No; of course not.  But you did happen to take one of those yellow roses, didn’t you, though?”

I breathlessly awaited the answer, but to my surprise, instead of embarrassment the girl’s eyes flashed with anger, though she answered quietly enough, “Well, yes, I did, sir.”

Ah, at last I was on the trail of that twelfth rose!  But from the frank way in which the girl admitted having taken the flower, I greatly feared that the trail would lead to a commonplace ending.

“What did you do with it?” I said quietly, endeavoring to make the question sound of little importance.

“I don’t want to tell you;” and the pout on her scarlet lips seemed more like that of a wilful child than of one guarding a guilty secret.

“Oh, yes, tell me, Elsa;” and I even descended to a coaxing tone, to win the girl’s confidence.

“Well, I gave it to that Louis.”

“To Louis? and why do you call him that Louis?”

“Oh, because.  I gave him the flower to wear because I thought he was going to take me out that evening.  He had promised he would, at least he had sort of promised, and then,—­and then—­”

“And then he took another young lady,” I finished for her in tones of such sympathy and indignation that she seemed to think she had found a friend.

“Yes,” she said, “he went and took another girl riding on the trolley, after he had said he would take me.”

“Elsa,” I said suddenly, and I fear she thought I had lost interest in her broken heart, “did Louis wear that rose you gave him that night?”

“Yes, the horrid man!  I saw it in his coat when he went away.”

“And did he wear it home again?”

“How should I know?” Elsa tossed her head with what was meant to be a haughty air, but which was belied by the blush that mantled her cheek at her own prevarication.

“But you do know,” I insisted, gently; “did he wear it when he came home?”

“Yes, he did.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I looked in his room the next day, and I saw it there all withered.  He had thrown it on the floor!”

The tragedy in Elsa’s eyes at this awful relation of the cruelty of the sterner sex called for a spoken sympathy, and I said at once, and heartily:  “That was horrid of him!  If I were you I’d never give him another flower.”

In accordance with the natural impulses of her sex, Elsa seemed pleased at my disapproval of Louis’s behavior, but she by no means looked as if she would never again bestow her favor upon him.  She smiled and tossed her head, and seemed willing enough for further conversation, but for the moment I felt that I had enough food for thought.  So I dismissed Elsa, having first admonished her not to repeat our conversation to any one.  In order to make sure that I should be obeyed in this matter, I threatened her with some unknown terrors which the law would bring upon her if she disobeyed me.  When I felt sure she was thoroughly frightened into secrecy concerning our interview, I sent her away and began to cogitate on what she had told me.