"Is it fragrant?" "Wonderfully so. Not a flower that ever I saw can compare with its delicate fragrance." "What color is it?" "White, with a delicate flush of rose." "It must be lovely," she said, holding off her flowers to get the effect of the arrangement. "Where are those flowers found?" "They are very rare. I never saw but one." "Did you say it was a lily?" "A lily." "Where did you see it, Mr. Thornton?" "Not far from this very spot, in the woods, under a maple tree, one autumn day, was where I first saw it," he said, looking into her eyes. And now the cheeks took on the rose hue again and went down among the green leaves. In a flash it came to her—his meaning—and the maple bough in the path; it was he, then, who broke it off and left it there for her. What words these would be to her if it were not for this bouquet she was making that reminded her of "his friend." What right had he, though, to trifle with her, making her show all her heart in her face? Without speaking, she hastily broke off a few white violets, twisted them together, and, with the lilies, pushed them toward him, saying coldly: "Here are your friend's flowers. Excuse me, Mr. Thornton, but I must go in. I think my grandfather is waiting for me—" "As your friend probably is for you," she wanted to add. Mr. Thornton did not seem quenched in the least, but he smiled in the darkness as he walked behind the cool little lady into the house, while the full meaning of white violets and "your friend" dawned upon him. Here was another bright leaf in the unfolding of this rare flower—she would have none of what rightfully belonged to another. As Mr. Thornton took leave of her grandfather, he said to Lily,— "Do you feel like performing a charitable deed to-morrow? Will you go with me to see a dear old saint who has not long to live, and who would be cheered, no doubt, by a visit from you?" She hesitated a moment, and her grandfather answered for her: "Why, certainly she will go; she never refuses a call of that kind. You can go to-morrow, can't you, dear?" And Lily answered "Yes" to her grandfather, but did not look at Mr. Thornton, not even when he said "that he would call for her at four, and would she please have some cut flowers ready for him?" Then he said "Good-night!" and went. It was not a very good night for her, though. She went over and over that strange evening. How happy and how miserable it had been! He probably meant nothing, after all, but a joke, and her foolish vanity had made so much of it; but then, he looked so much more than he said. What right had he to do that? Was he, after all, nothing but a trifler? And what if she were mistaken, and he had no friend of the sort she had imagined? Ah! That thought made her heart stand still when she remembered the words he had but just spoken, the grave, tender tones, and earnest looks. But there were the white violets, and he had said she was like them—this friend.