"Which have you chosen, then?" "That is the very question; I don't know how to settle it." "Take this one with the passion-flower." "No, that I shan't; for it was sent just to spite me. Mr. Grant sent it--and I told him last night that I hated passion flowers, and everything else that is sentimental. What shall I do?--It is so provoking!" "Suppose you put them all in water, and go without any." "My dear Jane, how you talk! That's what I never did in my life. Go to a ball without a bouquet!--I can't think of such a thing!" "We can untie them, and make up one ourselves, taking the prettiest flowers from each." "That won't do, either; for it's only the gardeners that can do up these things decently. I wouldn't, for the world, carry one that looked as if I had made it up myself." "Well," said Jane, in despair, "I really don't know what else to advise." "I do believe the young gentlemen have leagued together to provoke me! And this is not all, there are three more in water up-stairs." "You might take the first that came; perhaps that would be the best plan." "Would you have me take this ridiculous-looking thing, with only one camellia in it! No, indeed;" and for a moment the two young ladies sat down by the centre-table, looking despondingly at each other and at the flowers. "If I could only take the one I like best, it would be the easiest thing in the world; but, you know, all the other gentlemen would be offended then." "Which do you like best?" asked Jane. "Why this one, with the white camellias; it came from Theodore St. Leger; he told me he would send one with white flowers only." Adeline's colour rose a little as she spoke, and as that was not a common occurrence with her, it looked suspicious. "Did Mr. St. Leger dance with you last night?" "Why, no, child, he never dances; I didn't see him dance, all the time we were in Boston." "I thought you liked him," said Jane, with innocent surprise. "I like him well enough, after a fashion; as well as one can like a man who never dances, and don't talk much. He is very stupid, sometimes, and dresses very badly too." "Is he handsome?" asked Jane. "No, he is as ugly as he can be; I really think he looks just a little like that old Mr. Hopkins, his uncle." "What in the world makes you like him then?" "I am sure I don't know. But don't fancy I really care about the man. He is going back to Boston next week, and I don't suppose I shall ever see him again; but I thought I would take his bouquet, to-night, because he was so polite to me; and he will be there. Oh, my dear Jane, talking of Boston, I have hit upon an idea!" "Well, what is it?"