It was getting dark, and curtains were drawn round the cozy bays, and the firelight blazed cheerfully.

Prissie was a little before rather than behind her time, and there was no one in the room to greet her when she entered.  She felt so overmastered by shyness, however, that this was almost a relief, and she sank down into one of the many comfortable chairs with a feeling of thankfulness and looked around her.

The next moment a servant entered with a lamp, covered with a gold silk shade.  She placed it on a table near the fire, and lit a few candles, which stood on carved brackets round the walls.  Then Prissie saw what made her forget Miss Heath and her shyness and all else—­ a great bank of flowers, which stretched across one complete angle of the room.  There were some roses, some chrysanthemums, some geraniums.  They were cunningly arranged in pots, but had the effect at a little distance of a gay, tropical garden.  Prissie rushed to them, knelt down by a tall, white Japanese chrysanthemum and buried her face in its long, wavy petals.

Prissie had never seen such flowers, and she loved all flowers.  Her heart swelled with a kind of wonder; and when, the next moment, she felt a light and very soft kiss on her forehead she was scarcely surprised.

“My dear child,” said Miss Heath, “I am so sorry I was not in the room when you came in; but never mind, my flowers gave you welcome.”

“Yes,” said Prissie, standing up pale and with a luminous light in her eyes.

“You love flowers?” said Miss Heath, giving her a keen glance.

“Oh, yes; but I did not know—­ I could not guess—­ that any flower could be as beautiful as this,” and she touched the great white chrysanthemum with her finger.

“Yes, and there are some flowers even more wonderful.  Have you ever seen orchids?”

“No.”

“Then you have something to live for.  Orchids are ordinary flowers spiritualized.  They have a glamor over them.  We have good orchid shows sometimes at Kingsdene.  I will take you to the next.”

The servant brought in tea, and Miss Heath placed Prissie in a comfortable chair, where she was neither oppressed by lamplight nor firelight.

“A shy little soul like this will love the shade,” she said to herself.  “For all her plainness this is no ordinary girl, and I mean to draw her out presently.  What a brow she has, and what a light came into her eyes when she looked at my white chrysanthemum.”

There came a tap at the door, and Maggie Oliphant entered, looking fresh and bright.  She gave Prissie an affectionate glance and nod and then began to busy herself, helping Miss Heath with the tea.  During the meal a little pleasant murmur of conversation was kept up.  Miss Heath and Maggie exchanged ideas.  They even entered upon one or two delicate little skirmishes, each cleverly arguing a slight point on which they appeared to differ.  Maggie could make smart repartees, and Miss Heath could parry her graceful young adversary’s home thrusts with excellent effect.