“Yes, I can do that, and shall like it very much,” she said, burying her nose in the mass of sweetness before her, and feeling as if her new situation grew pleasanter every minute.

“Here is the apron my mother uses, that bit of silk will soon be spoilt, for the flowers are wet,” and David gravely offered her a large checked pinafore.

Christie could not help laughing as she put it on:  all this was so different from the imaginary picture she had made.  She was disappointed, and yet she began to feel as if the simple truth was better than the sentimental fiction; and glanced up at David involuntarily to see if there were any traces of interesting woe about him.

But he was looking at her with the steady, straight-forward look which she liked so much, yet could not meet just yet; and all she saw was that he was smiling also with an indulgent expression as if she was a little girl whom he was trying to amuse.

“Make a few, and I’ll be back directly when I have attended to another order,” and he went away thinking Christie’s face was very like the pansies they had been talking about,—­one of the sombre ones with a bright touch of gold deep down in the heart, for thin and pale as the face was, it lighted up at a kind word, and all the sadness vanished out of the anxious eyes when the frank laugh came.

Christie fell to work with a woman’s interest in such a pleasant task, and soon tied and twisted skilfully, exercising all her taste in contrasts, and the pretty little conceits flower-lovers can produce.  She was so interested that presently she began to hum half unconsciously, as she was apt to do when happily employed: 

    “Welcome, maids of honor,
    You do bring
    In the spring,
    And wait upon her. 
    She has virgins many,
    Fresh and fair,
    Yet you are
    More sweet than any.”

There she stopped, for David’s step drew near, and she remembered where she was.

“The last verse is the best in that little poem.  Have you forgotten it?” he said, pleased and surprised to find the new-comer singing Herrick’s lines “To Violets.”  “Almost; rny father used to say that when we went looking for early violets, and these lovely ones reminded me of it,” explained Christie, rather abashed.

David and Christie in the greenhouse.

As if to put her at ease David added, as he laid another handful of double-violets on the table: 

    “‘Y’ are the maiden posies,
    And so graced,
    To be placed
    Fore damask roses. 
    Yet, though thus respected,
    By and by
    Ye do lie,
    Poor girls, neglected.’

“I always think of them as pretty, modest maids after that, and can’t bear to throw them away, even when faded.”

Christie hoped he did not think her sentimental, and changed the conversation by pointing to her work, and saying, in a business-like way: