“Now, is not Corisande quite right?” said Lord St. Aldegonde, as he presented Madame Phoebus with a garland of woodbine, with which she said she would dress her head at dinner. All agreed with him, and Bertram and Euphrosyne adorned each other with carnations, and Mr. Phoebus placed a flower on the uncovered head of Lady St. Aldegonde, according to the principles of high art, and they sauntered and rambled in the sweet and sunny air amid a blaze of butterflies and the ceaseless hum of bees. Bertram and Euphrosyne had disappeared; and the rest were lingering about the hives while Mr. Phoebus gave them a lecture on the apiary and its marvellous life. The bees understood Mr. Phoebus, at least he said so, and thus his friends had considerable advantage in this lesson in entomology. Lady Corisande and Lothair were in a distant corner of the garden, and she was explaining to him her plans; what she had done and what she meant to do. “I wish I had a garden like this at Muriel,” said Lothair. “You could easily make one.” “If you helped me.” “I have told you all my plans,” said Lady Corisande. “Yes; but I was thinking of something else when you spoke,” said Lothair. “That was not very complimentary.” “I do not wish to be complimentary,” said Lothair, “if compliments mean less than they declare. I was not thinking of your garden, but of you.” “Where can they have all gone?” said Lady Corisande, looking round. “We must find them.” “And leave this garden?” said Lothair. “And I without a flower, the only one without a flower? I am afraid that is significant of my lot.” “You shall choose a rose,” said Lady Corisande. “Nay; the charm is, that it should be your choice.” But choosing the rose lost more times and, when Corisande and Lothair reached the arches of golden yew, there were no friends in sight. “I think I hear sounds this way,” said Lothair, and he led his companion farther from home. “I see no one,” said Lady Corisande, distressed, and when they had advanced a little way. “We are sure to find them in good time,” said Lothair. “Besides, I wanted to speak to you about the garden at Muriel. I wanted to induce you to go there and help me to make it. Yes,” he added, after some hesitation, “on this spot—I believe on this very spot—I asked the permission of your mother two years ago to express to you my love. She thought me a boy, and she treated me as a boy. She said I knew nothing of the world, and both our characters were unformed. I know the world now. I have committed many mistakes, doubtless many follies—have formed many opinions, and have changed many opinions; but to one I have been constant, in one I am unchanged—and that is my adoring love to you.” She turned pale, she stopped, then, gently taking his arm, she hid her face in his breast.