“The arbutus has a perfume--the dogwood has none--and a flower without perfume is like a woman without sentiment,” he said gayly. As they stood still for a moment, Olivia suddenly exclaimed to Pembroke: “Oh, I remember something about this fountain--don’t you?” Then they both began to laugh. “What is it?” asked Cave. “I was staying here once with mamma, when I was a little girl--” “I picked you up and held you over the basin to scare you.” “And dropped me in, and--” “Went gallantly to the rescue and dragged you out--” “And your mother sent you to bed without your dinner.” “I remember thinking you were the most comical looking object I ever saw with your curls dripping, and I was particularly amused at the chattering of your teeth. What remorseless wretches boys are!” “I don’t believe you meant to let me slip.” “You were splashing in the basin before I knew it. But it seemed a delicious piece of mischief then, and Miles’ terror that his turn would come next--Elizabeth boxed my ears for it.” For the first time since their return home each came back to something like the old boy and girl frankness, and they laughed like children. “How I loved to come here when I was a little girl. Your mother was certainly the most delightful companion for a child. I remember how she allowed me to brush her hair, it was so long and beautiful. I suppose my efforts were torture to her; how splendid she looked when she was dressed for a ball.” Pembroke was touched to the heart. His mother who died like Elizabeth, in her youth and beauty, was only seventeen years older than himself. He remembered that she had been a little more than a girl when he, her eldest son, reached up to her shoulder. Olivia and her father were always associated with his mother. Few persons remembered her, he thought bitterly. He had imagined that it was impossible for any one to know her without being inspired with the profound admiration he felt, along with his affection for her. But naturally it was not so--and he felt an inexpressible pride in hearing Olivia’s words. They were not many, but he knew they came from her heart. “Do you know,” he said as they turned away and pursued the path to the house while Cave dropped behind, “I think you are a little like my mother. Petrarch says so too, and Petrarch is a physiognomist.” “Nonsense,” cried Olivia, nevertheless coloring with pleasure. “Your mother was one of the most beautiful women in the world, and most commanding in her beauty. I don’t know anybody at all like her.” They were now near the house, and looking up, Pembroke saw Madame Koller and the bundle of wrappings she called mamma descending from the carriage. A little unpleasant shock came upon him. The ladies from The Beeches were out of harmony just then.