"It is one of the prettiest I ever saw," she replied. In a moment he gathered the fairest sprays from the precious tree. She cried out in dismay at the destruction. "Nay," said Lord Airlie, "if every flower here could be compressed into one blossom, it would hardly be a fitting offering to you." She smiled at the very French compliment, and he continued--"I shall always have a great affection for that tree." "Why?" she asked, unconsciously. "Because it has pleased you," he replied. They stood by the pretty plant, Beatrice touching the golden bells softly with her fingers. Something of the magic of the scene touched her. She did not know why the fountain rippled so musically, why the flowers seemed doubly fair as her young lover talked to her. She had been loved. She had heard much of love, but she herself had never known what it really meant. She did not know why, after a time, her proud, bright eyes drooped, and had never met Lord Airlie's gaze, why her face flushed and grew pale, why his words woke a new, strange, beautiful music in her heart--music that never died until-- "I ask for one spray--only one--to keep in memory of this pleasant hour," said Lord Airlie, after a pause. She gave him a spray of the delicate golden bells. "I should like to be curious and rude," he said, "and ask if you ever gave any one a flower before?" "No," she replied. "Then I shall prize this doubly," he assured her. That evening Lord Airlie placed the golden blossom carefully away. The time came when he would have parted with any treasure on earth rather than that. But his question had suddenly disturbed Beatrice. For a moment her thoughts flew to the sea shore at Knutsford. The present faded from her; she saw Hugh Fernely's face as it looked when he offered her the beautiful lily. The very remembrance of it made her shudder as though seized with deathly cold--and Lord Airlie saw it. "You are cold," he said; "how careless I am to keep you standing here!" He helped her to draw the costly lace shawl around her shoulders, and Beatrice was quickly herself again, and they returned to the ball room; but Lord Airlie lingered by Miss Earle. "You have enjoyed the ball, Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as he bade his daughters good night. "I have, indeed, papa," she replied. "This has been the happiest evening of my life." "I can guess why," thought Lord Earle, as he kissed the bright face upraised to him; "there will be no wretched underhand love business there." He was not much surprised on the day following when Lord Airlie was the first morning caller, and the last to leave, not going until Lady Helena told him that they should all be at the opera that evening and should perhaps see him there. He regretted that he had promised Lady Morton his box for the night, when Lady Earle felt herself bound to ask him to join them in theirs.