“I do not think,” put in George Ashley, unmoved, “that Trenchard has any business to ask that question. I stayed on purpose to remonstrate, and I suggest that it be not answered.” “Wait till you hear why I asked it,” retorted the master of Dewlands. “Ladies, I was going very humbly to beg your permission to present you to-morrow with a few flowers, if there were any prospect of your honouring me by wearing them. And so the colours you would prefer . . .” Amelia rose and swept him a curtsy. “You have the most charming ideas, sir! We are immensely obliged to you, Lucienne and I.” “You will really condescend to wear them? Then what may I offer you?” “Present Amelia with a nosegay of holly,” suggested her brother. “I can conceive its becoming her well.” “But not my dress, thank you,” responded Miss Ashley. “Let us be serious, for this is a serious question.” Trenchard went and bent over Lucienne. “And you, Mademoiselle?” he asked in a lower tone. “I shall wear lilac, Monsieur,” answered the girl softly. “I am still in half-mourning for my mother, you know. If I were at home I should not perhaps be going to a ball. But here Madame permits me to go.” “Indeed, I should hope so,” murmured the Englishman to himself. “Then, Mademoiselle, would you permit me to offer you a few violets?” “Ah, no, Monsieur!” said Lucienne suddenly; “not violets!” “You dislike violets?” “I would rather not wear them,” said Lucienne. “What, Lucy?” exclaimed Sir William, overhearing, where he stood leaning against the harpsichord, his hands in his pockets. “You dislike the violet—the modest violet, the flower so suitable to a young girl! Fie!” “Oh no!” said Lucienne, confused. “I never said that I disliked them. I . . . I would rather not . . . I mean, if Mr Trenchard were so kind as to offer me anything else.” “Aha!” exclaimed her host, chuckling. “Now I see the reason!” And approaching Lucienne he bent down and observed in a tone perfectly audible to the whole assembly: “A little sentimental reason connected with Gilbert, is it not, my dear? Quite right—quite right and proper!” Lucienne flushed crimson, and precisely at that moment the Marquise entered the room. “Amelia——” she began. “Oh, I beg your pardon! I did not know that you had visitors.” “It is only Mr Trenchard, aunt,” said Amelia quickly, and George placed a chair for Madame de Château-Foix, with whose entrance a slight constraint appeared to have fallen upon the company. Sir William endeavoured to dissipate this by informing his sister-in-law of the object of Trenchard’s visit. “Indeed!” said the Marquise, elevating her beautifully pencilled eyebrows, and looking at Trenchard where he stood by Lucienne. “Monsieur is really too kind.” “But Lucy,” pursued Sir William, unheeding, “don’t want to wear violets.” “Indeed, I should hope not!” exclaimed Madame de Château-Foix, with so much of meaning in her voice that Sir William was suddenly stricken silent.