"Granted, my dear Esther; in theory you are absolutely right, in practice you are lamentably wrong. But I see wrath mantling on Miss Dick's brow, and scorn flashing from her eyes at our persiflage; let me appease her and make a desperate plunge into the depths of incertitude. And first of all, to be courteous and French, I throw away deliberately one chance in suggesting that it may have been _M. le mari_ who sent the flowers? Ah, no, believe me, I did not need your silent denial, Esther, to be assured of my mistake; that would be far too commonplace and _bourgeois_ a reading for our ethics of this nineteenth century. The lover sinks such attentions in the husband, and is better employed in sending flowers to some other man's wife, rather than to his own." "How very cynical you can be, Philip," exclaimed Mrs. Newbold, turning her blue eyes full upon him. "I am sure George often gives me flowers; why, these very buds I am wearing are his gift," and she touched some half-open blossoms that formed her _bouquet de corsage_. "That was very gallant of George," replied Mr. Tremain, gravely, "especially as he had the arduous task of gathering them from his own rosery, and the virtuous satisfaction of knowing that they cost him far more than the roses of your posy cost the other fellow. Well, let me try again. Was it Freddy Slade? I have noticed that innocent youth casting furtive glances in your direction, Mrs. Esther, too often of late. It is possible that his ardour may have over-stepped his prudence and his income, and your jacques been the result." "Wrong again, Mr. Tremain," cried Dick Darling; "oh, I do hope, with all my soul, you may miss each time." "Considering that I have but one chance more, that is rather ungenerous, Miss Dick. I should not have believed so rancorous a spirit dwelt within your breast. To wish to further humiliate a two-thirds vanquished foe!" "But I don't want to lose my bangle, you see," said Dick, naïvely, at which remark both Mr. Tremain and Esther laughed, and the former continued: "Well, here goes my last and only try for your pretty bauble, Miss Dick. Was it Sir Piers Tracey? To be sure it is not quite in his line, and I never saw an Englishman yet who appreciated an American woman's love of flowers, still it might have been Sir Piers, and in that case George could not even try to appear jealous." "Poor dear Sir Piers!" laughed Esther, "the idea of his sending any one flowers! He's old enough to be one's grandfather!" "I don't know that that makes him ineligible," answered Mr. Tremain, "I dare say 'old Q.' and Beau Brummel showered roses upon the youthful Esthers of their decrepitude; it isn't age, my dear Mrs. Esther, that counts in such things, it's temperament."