The look of displeasure, which had begun to come over Arthur's face when the young Captain spoke of Love so lightly, faded away as the song proceeded, and he listened with evident delight. But his face darkened again when Eric demurely remarked “Don't you think 'my soldier-lad' would have fitted the tune just as well!” “Why, so it would!” Lady Muriel gaily retorted. “Soldiers, sailors, tinkers, tailors, what a lot of words would fit in! I think 'my tinker-lad' sounds best. Don't you?” To spare my friend further pain, I rose to go, just as the Earl was beginning to repeat his particularly embarrassing question about the flowers. “You have not yet--' “Yes, I've had some tea, thank you!” I hastily interrupted him. “And now we really must be going. Good evening, Lady Muriel!” And we made our adieux, and escaped, while the Earl was still absorbed in examining the mysterious bouquet. Lady Muriel accompanied us to the door. “You couldn't have given my father a more acceptable present!” she said, warmly. “He is so passionately fond of Botany. I'm afraid I know nothing of the theory of it, but I keep his Hortus Siccus in order. I must get some sheets of blotting-paper, and dry these new treasures for him before they fade. “That won't be no good at all!” said Bruno, who was waiting for us in the garden. “Why won't it?” said I. “You know I had to give the flowers, to stop questions?” “Yes, it ca'n't be helped,” said Sylvie: “but they will be sorry when they find them gone!” “But how will they go?” “Well, I don't know how. But they will go. The nosegay was only a Phlizz, you know. Bruno made it up.” These last words were in a whisper, as she evidently did not wish Arthur to hear. But of this there seemed to be little risk: he hardly seemed to notice the children, but paced on, silent and abstracted; and when, at the entrance to the wood, they bid us a hasty farewell and ran off, he seemed to wake out of a day-dream. The bouquet vanished, as Sylvie had predicted; and when, a day or two afterwards, Arthur and I once more visited the Hall, we found the Earl and his daughter, with the old housekeeper, out in the garden, examining the fastenings of the drawing-room window. “We are holding an Inquest,” Lady Muriel said, advancing to meet us: “and we admit you, as Accessories before the Fact, to tell us all you know about those flowers.” “The Accessories before the Fact decline to answer any questions,” I gravely replied. “And they reserve their defence.” “Well then, turn Queen's Evidence, please! The flowers have disappeared in the night,” she went on, turning to Arthur, “and we are quite sure no one in the house has meddled with them. Somebody must have entered by the window--” “But the fastenings have not been tampered with,” said the Earl. “It must have been while you were dining, my Lady,” said the housekeeper.