There was a cause for this excessive caution. He had seen much hollowness and deceit in society, had found a low standard among young ladies themselves, and their pleasure being so universally the aim of life, that he was tempted to believe that sterling worth in womankind had died with his mother and grandmother. Moreover, he had in early manhood a bitter experience; had been carried captive by a beautiful face, and came near linking his life to one who proved to be empty-headed and empty-hearted, and yet she was fair as an angel, and counterfeited all virtues and graces most admirably. It was a keen disappointment, and inclined him to place no confidence in mere appearances. And so he had watched this lovely flower unfolding day by day before him, hardly daring to hope that the self-sacrifice, the consecration and sweetness were genuine, trembling lest some day he should discover the hideous blight spot. It had come to be a matter of course that as often as Mr. Thornton came, he carried away a knot of white violets for his friend, and Lily, while she made it up with care, made up also a pretty little romance. She pictured his friend a fair, sweet creature, arrayed in garments of finest texture and softest tints, with rare old laces and jewels, and a hint odor of violets always about her. How blest and happy must she be, having the right to wait and watch for him, to be glad at his coming—always with her flowers! How lovely she must be when that rare, delicate fragrance typified her to him! If sometimes while she worked, a tear sparkled on the white blossoms, she dashed off the intruder and took herself sternly in hand. What was this? Was she growing envious? Jealous? What? Ah! She must look well to her heart, treacherous heart repining at another's happiness. This was only momentary weakness that nobody guessed aught of—that she did not admit even to herself. She still went her daily rounds, cheerful, trusting, thankful, looking with brave eyes into the future that promised only a life of toil. It so happened that Mr. Thornton sometimes sought her in the greenhouse, as the evening waned and she did not appear; but she seemed absorbed in her work, and determined to take for granted that it was a purely business call with a pertinacity that was both amusing and annoying; annoying in that the chief subject of Mr. Thornton's perplexed musings in these days was, not what estimate to put upon her, but to discover, if possible, what one she put upon him. One evening he strayed in and laughingly declared that she "must suspend industry for a time, and turn cicerone, as there were doubtless many points of interest in her flowery kingdom that he had not yet visited."