“Indeed it was no trouble.  It was a pleasure.  I am alone in the world since I lost my wife, and I often long for the society of your sex, Miss Hawkins, notwithstanding what people may say to the contrary.”

“It is pleasant to hear you say that.  I am sure it must be so.  If I feel lonely at times, because of my exile from old friends, although surrounded by new ones who are already very dear to me, how much more lonely must you feel, bereft as you are, and with no wholesome relief from the cares of state that weigh you down.  For your own sake, as well as for the sake of others, you ought to go into society oftener.  I seldom see you at a reception, and when I do you do not usually give me very, much of your attention”

“I never imagined that you wished it or I would have been very glad to make myself happy in that way.—­But one seldom gets an opportunity to say more than a sentence to you in a place like that.  You are always the centre of a group—­a fact which you may have noticed yourself.  But if one might come here—­”

“Indeed you would always find a hearty welcome, Mr. Buckstone.  I have often wished you would come and tell me more about Cairo and the Pyramids, as you once promised me you would.”

“Why, do you remember that yet, Miss Hawkins?  I thought ladies’ memories were more fickle than that.”

“Oh, they are not so fickle as gentlemen’s promises.  And besides, if I had been inclined to forget, I—­did you not give me something by way of a remembrancer?”

“Did I?”

“Think.”

“It does seem to me that I did; but I have forgotten what it was now.”

“Never, never call a lady’s memory fickle again!  Do you recognize this?”

“A little spray of box!  I am beaten—­I surrender.  But have you kept that all this time?”

Laura’s confusion was very, pretty.  She tried to hide it, but the more she tried the more manifest it became and withal the more captivating to look upon.  Presently she threw the spray of box from her with an annoyed air, and said: 

“I forgot myself.  I have been very foolish.  I beg that you will forget this absurd thing.”

Mr. Buckstone picked up the spray, and sitting down by Laura’s side on the sofa, said: 

“Please let me keep it, Miss Hawkins.  I set a very high value upon it now.”

“Give it to me, Mr. Buckstone, and do not speak so.  I have been sufficiently punished for my thoughtlessness.  You cannot take pleasure in adding to my distress.  Please give it to me.”

“Indeed I do not wish to distress you.  But do not consider the matter so gravely; you have done yourself no wrong.  You probably forgot that you had it; but if you had given it to me I would have kept it—­and not forgotten it.”

“Do not talk so, Mr. Buckstone.  Give it to me, please, and forget the matter.”

“It would not be kind to refuse, since it troubles you so, and so I restore it.  But if you would give me part of it and keep the rest—­”