"And you didn't resent it? And you thought them pretty from the very first moment?" cried the youth, on a high note of satisfaction. He reached up now boldly, took the single flower from her hand, pinched off the end of a long fern-leaf to back it, and deliberately arranged himself a button-hole. Gwendolen wiped the tears of merriment from her bright eyes. "Pretty?" she echoed. "It is too tame a word. I thought them a dream,--an inspiration,--a visual ecstasy!" "Yes, I said they were like you," returned the impudent Dodge, as well as he could for the distorted countenance bent above the process of pinning in his flower. "There," he said, anent this finished operation, "it's in. I think it becomes me. I didn't run my finger to the bone but once. Now tell me what ma-_ma_ thought of the flowers and the card?" In spite of her usual self-possession, the girl was stricken dumb. To add to her confusion, a deep embarrassing blush rose relentlessly to her throat and face, and would not be banished. "You won't repeat it!" cried the terrible youth. "You don't dare to,--but I will. Mama said,--lifting her lorgnettes (here he deliberately mimicked the air of a middle-aged grande dame),--'T. Caraway Dodge! Who is T. Caraway Dodge? Oh, I see,--a snip of an attaché!'" A look into the stupefied face above him showed that his bold guess had been true. Intoxicated by success, he ventured another toss. "If you say the word, I come pretty near repeating your answer." Behind the astonishment, then the consternation of the girl's face, a harder something flashed. She was not accustomed to have the lead so rudely taken. This young person must be disposed of on the instant. His impudence would have given points to Jonah's gourd. She now rose to her feet, held her chin unnecessarily high, and, with the air of a young Lady Macbeth, drawled out,--"I will spare you the trouble, Mr. T. Caraway Dodge. Much as I dislike to be rude, the words I said were these--" She paused. Dodge rose too. The brown eyes and the hazel were nearly on a level. He was laughing. "Well?" he reminded at length. His unconsciousness of offence gave the last flare to her indignation. "I said to those present, 'The sending of so costly a bouquet by Mr. Dodge is a little--er--pushing, and the sender must be told so; but since, by accident,--the flowers just happen to suit my gown--'" "Nonsense!" laughed the rash Dodge, "you never talked that way in your life, unless you deliberately made it up. That's your stunt now, of course. Any one could see it. What is more likely, you said--what I planned for you to say was,--'Oh, here are the flowers I have been waiting for! I think I'll have to marry the person who sent me these!--There's the music of the first waltz! It's a peach! Come,--you haven't promised it, have you? Everybody is waiting for the hostess to begin. Let us start the ball rolling!"