Basil, her brother, whose name indicated his nature, made every one feel as though transported to a loftier atmosphere.  He seemed to belong among the stars.  Dawn felt at home at once in his presence, which was a mystery to her friend, to whom he seemed intangible and distant.  She had never seen upon the face of Dawn such rapt admiration as she saw there, when Basil conversed.

The conversation changed from external to inner subjects, just as the bell rung for dinner.  At the table there were no strangers, and to Dawn it seemed as though she had always known them, and many times before, occupied the same place in their midst.  Thus do those who are harmonious in spirit affiliate, regardless of material conditions.

A vase of elegant flowers decked the table, also a basket of blossoms, unarranged, which, at dessert, were placed on the plates of the guests.

A light shone from Basil’s eyes, which did not escape Mrs. Austin’s notice, as he placed a scarlet lily upon her plate.

  “The wand-like lily which lifted up,
  As a Maenad, its radiant-colored cup,
  Till the fiery star, which is in its eye,
  Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky.”

While these lines of Whittier’s ran through her mind: 

  “I bring no gift of passion,
    I breathe no tone of love,
  But the freshness and the purity
    Of a feeling far above. 
  I love to turn to thee, fair girl,
    As one within whose heart
  Earth has no stain of vanity,
    And fickleness no part.”

Then she watched him with deeper interest as he placed a spray of balm beside the lily.

  “Balm that never ceases uttering sweets,
  Goes decking the green earth with drapery.”

“I wonder what he will give me,” she said to herself, almost impatiently, yet fearing the offering might not be complimentary, for she well knew that Basil Bernard was always truthful.  He held already in his hand a rose, blooming and fresh as morning, which he put upon her plate, and beside it a spray of yellow jessamine.  Grace and elegance-while the beautiful Mundi rose spoke its own language-"you are merry.”

  “Blushing rose! 
  Blown in the morning-thou shalt fade ere noon: 
    What boots a life that in such haste forsakes thee? 
  Thou ’rt wondrous frolic being to die so soon,
    And passing proud a little color makes thee.”

And now came the most interesting point, to see what flowers he would place upon his sister’s plate.

First, a handful of violets.  “Faithfulness,” thought Dawn, “he is right thus far.”  And then, as though his thoughts rose with the sentiment, he laid snowballs gently around them, while these words flashed upon her mind: