To her house on the Avenue Malakoff I went (her only son, last of his line, had just been killed at the front, but her work must go on), and three exquisite William Allen Richardsons I picked out from all the rest. Late that night, too impatient to wait, through the narrow, shuttered, unlighted Paris streets I walked--no taxicabs in those war days--over the river to deliver my initiatory tribute at Zeroine’s hotel. And with it I left a letter telling her the roses’ pathetic story. This is what Zeroine replied: “Yes, I know the De Laumont roses. They’re lovely. I saw the wife of the Ambassador wearing one last week, and got the address. I have been intending to buy some of them; but you have kindly saved me the trouble.” BUT for the most extraordinary misunderstanding of all that gifts should mean, I think I must, after all, award the prize to Mrs. Hilking. The Christmas tree that day at Mrs. Hilking’s was heavily hung with presents--piled deep on the floor they were. Mrs. Hilking was happy--oh, she was awfully happy! Didn’t she have good reason to be happy? “Why,” gurgled Mrs. Hilking, so proudly, “baby has received so many, many Christmas presents that I didn’t have to give him a single one myself!” Selah! DO you begin to see, now, what Sadie meant by style in kindness? Style is what a smart hat has, isn’t it? It’s what an expensive motor car has--or a beautiful dancer. It’s the perfect technique of any artist--a successful clergyman, or a good novelist, or a clever burglar such as Mr. Raffles. In short, style is a combination of good taste and imagination. Then what is style in giving? To give what you’d like yourself may be kindness. But the Educated Heart isn’t quite satisfied even with the Golden Rule. It amends, or, rather, translates it thus: “Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, _were ye such as they_, do ye even so to them.” But perhaps you don’t know what your friend wants. Ah, but the Educated Heart makes it its business to know, to remember, or to find out. “A man’s heart,” you know, “deviseth his way.” One friend I have to whom I can’t express a taste or desire that isn’t treasured up against need. If I happen to mention liking a Japanese writing set, it is only a question of time when that set is mine. I said to the Prandials once that I loved watercress, and lightly wished that I might have it for every meal. Never a meal have I ever had at the Prandials’ table, since then, without finding watercress bought specially for me. D’YOU think it’s easy, this business of giving? Verily, verily, I say unto you, giving is as much of an art as portrait-painting, or the making of glass flowers. There really ought to be a four years’ course in the art of making presents in every college for those who are not born intelligently generous.