“You always put things into such plain words, _mon cher_; it is a foolish habit, and the sooner you can divest yourself of it the better,” was D’Almayne’s reply; “probably the mighty Nimrod, in flirting with Miss Crofton, means no more harm than you do by your Platonic attachment for his pretty wife. Nevertheless, if such should prove the fact, and you gently insinuate the same to _la belle Alice_, the chances are that she will be kinder than ever, to evince her gratitude for your having rendered her jealous of her husband--not that you seem to require any help--I saw where that rosebud came from, _coquin_; but now you may, if you will, render me a service; find your way to the entrance-gate, and wait till my friend, Monsieur Guillemard, makes his appearance--probably you will find him waiting there already--and having discovered him, bring him here.” As the obedient lordling strolled away on his mission, the indefatigable Horace gathered a rose; then approaching Kate Crane, he lisped in his most dreamy and affected style-- “I’ve been searching everywhere to find a rose of that peculiar tint which might harmonise and yet contrast well with your dress; at length, I am charmed to say my efforts have been successful. Mr. Crane, will you favour me by presenting this rose to Madame? Coming through your hands, I feel sure it will be accepted.” “No, positively; that is, really it will be much more fitting--if I may be allowed to say so--that, as you have been so obliging as to find it, you should yourself present it. Mrs. Crane will, I feel convinced, be happy to acknowledge your politeness, by accepting a flower offered--if I may be permitted to say so--with such propriety and respect.”