The Duke, ending presently on a “dying fall,” sighed and looked up. “Lady,” he said, “there is a test of the interpretative power of music (which some deny), to render the very spirit of a flower in sound, so that one listening, with closed eyes, will say, ‘That be jonquils,’ or ‘That be rosemary,’ or lavender, or what you will. Only the player must have that same blossom he would explain nigh to him, that his soul may be permeated by its essence while he improvises. What say you, shall we put it to the proof? Poor artist as I am, if my skill prove but twin-brother to my wish I will interpret you my blossoms so that you shall cry, ‘That’s for the one in flower language called Remembrance,’ or ‘That’s for gentle Friendship,’ or ‘That’s for Love.’ Will you be so entertained? Only--for the means.” He looked to the Earl. This was no more than a ruse, devised on the moment to rid himself of that simple incubus. “My lord,” said he, with an ingratiatory smile, “will you favour me so far as to go gather me a posy from the garden?” But before the sappy youth could fall into that palpable trap, Kate had risen hurriedly to her feet. “Nay, brother,” she said, “stay you here. I know better than you where to find the blooms most meet to his Highness’s purpose”--and she was going, half scared and yet half diverted. But scarce had she taken a step or two, when a sudden voice singing outside the window brought her to an instant standstill-- “_Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love, turn to me_, _For thou art the only one, love, that art ador’d by me_”; so sweet and unexpected, they all whisked about in surprise to mark the singer. She loitered, in seeming unconsciousness of their neighbourhood, among the beds, a slender girl figure, on whose face, as she stooped and rose, the sunlight went and came as if it fought her for a kiss. She looked a very stillroom fairy of the gardens, herself expressed from all their daintiest scents and colours. And so, no doubt, the men thought; but, for my lady Chesterfield, the apparition wrought in her a revulsion of feeling which was as instant as it was startling. Her wrongs, the empty vanity of her scruples, all rushed upon her in a moment, and she stood stock still. And then she gave a chill little laugh, a woman of ice in a moment, and said she, small and quiet-- “But it were ill manners for a hostess to desert her guest; and after all, Dick, thou art the musician to feel a musician’s needs.” My lord looked suddenly gratified. “Ath you will, thithter Kit,” said he; “unless your friend outthide would prefer your company.” “Friend!” cried her ladyship; “she is no friend of mine.” “Of whoth, then?” “You may ask her if you will. Nay, I see that you are all excitement to put his Highness’s pleasant fancy to the test. Go, then--leave your sister, and gather flowers.”