and thin and weedy.  They didn’t grow so fast in England, to begin with, and now they’re rich with character and strong with conduct and hoary with ideals.  I’ve been reading up the history of our political relations with England.  It’s astonishing what we’ve stuck to her through, but you can’t help seeing why—­it’s for the moral advantage.  Way down at the bottom, that’s what it is.  We have the sense to want all we can get of that sort of thing.  They’ve developed the finest human product there is, the cleanest, the most disinterested, and we want to keep up the relationship—­it’s important.  Their talk about the value of their protection doesn’t take in the situation as it is now.  Who would touch us if we were running our own show?”

“I don’t believe they are a bit better than we are,” replied Miss Milburn.  “I’m sure I haven’t much opinion of the Englishmen that come out here.  They don’t think anything of getting into debt, and as often as not they drink, and they never know enough to—­to come in out of the rain.  But, Lorne—­”

“Yes, but we’re very apt to get the failures.  The fellows their folks give five or six hundred pounds to and tell them they’re not expected back till they’re making a living.  The best men find their level somewhere else, along recognized channels.  Lord knows we don’t want them—­this country’s for immigrants.  We’re manufacturing our own gentlemen quite fast enough for the demand.”

“I should think we were!  Why, Lorne, Canadians—­nice Canadians are just as gentlemanly as they can be!  They’ll compare with anybody.  Perhaps Americans have got more style:”  she weighed the matter; “but Canadians are much better form, I think.  But, Lorne, how perfectly dear of you to send me those roses.  I wore them, and nobody there had such beauties.  All the girls wanted to know where I got them, but I only told Lily, just to make her feel a pig for not having asked you—­my very greatest friend!  She just about apologized—­told me she wanted to ask about twenty more people, but her mother wouldn’t let her.  They’ve lost an uncle or something lately, and if it hadn’t been for Clara Sims staying with them they wouldn’t have been giving anything.”

“I’ll try to survive not having been asked.  But I’m glad you wore the roses, Dora.”

“I dropped one, and Phil Carter wanted to keep it.  He’s so silly!”

“Did you—­did you let him keep it?”

“Lorne Murchison!  Do you think I’d let any man keep a rose I’d been wearing?”

He looked at her, suddenly emboldened.  “I don’t know about roses, Dora, but pansies—­those are awfully nice ones in your dress.  I’m very fond of pansies; couldn’t you spare me one?  I wouldn’t ask for a rose, but a pansy—­”

His eyes were more ardent than what he found to say.  Beneath them Dora grew delicately pink.  The pansies drooped a little; she put her slender fingers under one, and lifted its petals.

“It’s too faded for your buttonhole,” she said.