“Now,” said the sentimental lady on my left, “while you gentlemen are wasting the time in useless talk the lady is without her roses. There is one thing that you all seem to miss. It is not the mere value of the bouquet. There is a subtle perfume about an offering like this more delicate than that which Nature gave the flowers—” “Hear, hear,” broke in Waters. “I told you,” said Blair aside, “the kind of fellow Waters is. He thinks nothing of interrupting a lady.” “Order, both of you!” I cried, rapping on the table; “the lady from England has the floor.” “What I was going to say—” “When Waters interrupted you.” “When Mr. Waters interrupted me I was going to say that there seems to me a romantic tinge to this incident that you old married men cannot be expected to appreciate.” I looked with surprise at Waters, while he sank back in his seat with the resigned air of a man in the hands of his enemies. We had both been carefully concealing the fact that we were married men, and the blunt announcement of the lady was a painful shock. Waters gave a side nod at Blair, as much as to say, “He’s given it away.” I looked reproachfully at my old friend at the head of the table, but he seemed to be absorbed in what our sentimental lady was saying. “It is this,” she continued. “Here is a young lady. Her lover sends her a basket. There may be some hidden meaning that she alone will understand in the very flowers chosen, or in the arrangement of them. The flowers, let us suppose, never reach their destination. The message is unspoken, or, rather, spoken, but unheard. The young lady grieves at the apparent neglect, and then, in her pride, resents it. She does not write, and he knows not why. The mistake may be discovered too late, and all because a basket of flowers has been missent.” “Now, Blair,” said Waters, “if anything can make you do the square thing surely that appeal will.” “I shall not so far forget what is due to myself and to the dignity of this table as to reply to our erratic friend. Here is what I propose to do—first catch our hare. Steward, can you find out for me at what table and at what seat Miss McMillan is?” While the steward was gone on his errand Mr. Blair proceeded. “I will become acquainted with her. McMillan is a good Scotch name and Blair is another. On that as a basis I think we can speedily form an acquaintance. I shall then in a casual manner ask her if she knows a young man by the name of Edwin J., and I shall tell you what effect the mention of the name has on her.” “Now, as part owner in the flowers up to date, I protest against that. I insist that Miss McMillan be brought to this table, and that we all hear exactly what is said to her,” put in Mr. Waters. Nevertheless we agreed that Mr. Blair’s proposal was a good one and the majority sanctioned it. Meanwhile our sentimental lady had been looking among the crowd for the unconscious Miss McMillan.