... No, madam, never now. Of course, I did think of it at one time. But it wasn’t to be. He had a little flower-shop just down the road and across from where we was living. Funny—wasn’t it? And me such a one for flowers. We were having a lot of company at the time, and I was in and out of the shop more often than not, as the saying is. And Harry and I (his name was Harry) got to quarrelling about how things ought to be arranged—and that began it. Flowers! you wouldn’t believe it, madam, the flowers he used to bring me. He’d stop at nothing. It was lilies-of-the-valley more than once, and I’m not exaggerating! Well, of course, we were going to be married and live over the shop, and it was all going to be just so, and I was to have the window to arrange.... Oh, how I’ve done that window of a Saturday! Not really, of course, madam, just dreaming, as you might say. I’ve done it for Christmas—motto in holly, and all—and I’ve had my Easter lilies with a gorgeous star all daffodils in the middle. I’ve hung—well, that’s enough of that. The day came he was to call for me to choose the furniture. Shall I ever forget it? It was a Tuesday. My lady wasn’t quite herself that afternoon. Not that she’d said anything, of course; she never does or will. But I knew by the way that she kept wrapping herself up and asking me if it was cold—and her little nose looked... pinched. I didn’t like leaving her; I knew I’d be worrying all the time. At last I asked her if she’d rather I put it off. “Oh no, Ellen,” she said, “you mustn’t mind about me. You mustn’t disappoint your young man.” And so cheerful, you know, madam, never thinking about herself. It made me feel worse than ever. I began to wonder... then she dropped her handkerchief and began to stoop down to pick it up herself—a thing she never did. “Whatever are you doing!” I cried, running to stop her. “Well,” she said, smiling, you know, madam, “I shall have to begin to practise.” Oh, it was all I could do not to burst out crying. I went over to the dressing-table and made believe to rub up the silver, and I couldn’t keep myself in, and I asked her if she’d rather I... didn’t get married. “No, Ellen,” she said—that was her voice, madam, like I’m giving you—“No, Ellen, not for the _wide world_!” But while she said it, madam—I was looking in her glass; of course, she didn’t know I could see her—she put her little hand on her heart just like her dear mother used to, and lifted her eyes... Oh, _madam_!