But he soon forgot his chagrin. The formidable Gaspar appeared that very morning, and, although Lord Airlie could perceive that he was at once smitten with Beatrice's charms, he also saw that she paid no heed whatever to the new-comer; indeed, after a few words of courteous greeting, she returned to the point under discussion--what flowers would look best in the ball room. "If we have flowers at all," she said, imperiously, "let them be a gorgeous mass of bloom--something worth looking at; not a few pale blossoms standing here and there like 'white sentinels'; let us have flowers full of life and fragrance. Lillian, you know what I mean; you remember Lady Manton's flowers--tier after tier of magnificent color." "You like to do everything en reine, Beatrice," said Lady Helena, with a well-pleased smile. "If you have not flowers sufficient, Miss Earle," said Lord Airlie, "I will send to Lynnton. My gardener considers himself a past master of his art." "My dear Lord Airlie," said Lady Earle, "we have flowers in profusion. You have not been through the conservatories. It would while away the morning pleasantly for you all. Beatrice, select what flowers you will, and have them arranged as you like." "See," said the triumphant beauty, "what a grand thing a strong will is! Imagine papa's saying he thought thirty or forty plants in full flower would be sufficient! We will surprise him. If the gardener loses his reason, as Lady Earle seems to think probable, he must be taken care of." Lord Airlie loved Beatrice best in such moods; imperious and piquant, melting suddenly into little gleams of tenderness, then taking refuge in icy coldness and sunny laughter. Beautiful, dazzling, capricious, changing almost every minute, yet charming as she changed, he would not have bartered one of her proudest smiles or least words for anything on earth. He never forgot that morning spent among the flowers. It was a glimpse of elysium to him. The way in which Beatrice contrived to do as she liked amused him; her face looked fairer than ever among the blooming flowers. "There is the bell for lunch," she said at last. "We have been here nearly three hours." "Most of your attendants look slightly deranged," said Lionel. "I am sure I saw poor Donald weeping over his favorite plants. He told me confidentially they would be fit for nothing after the heat of the ball room." "I shall invent some means of consolation for him," she replied. "I like dancing among the bright flowers. Why should we not have everything gay and bright and beautiful, if we can?" "Why not?" said Lionel, gravely. "Ah, Miss Earle, why are we not always young and beautiful and happy? Why must flowers die, beauty fade, love grow old? Ask a philosopher--do not ask me. I know the answer, but let some one else give it to you."