"Why—I thought—you said—Oh! Peggie, what did you mean by a little bird?" pouted Prue. "Ha! ha! ha!" Peggie screamed with laughter. "So the only bird you can think of now is a Robin! Why, Prue, you foolish coz, what is the use of setting your heart on him? You know you can not have him." "And suppose I can not; is not that enough to make any woman set her heart on a man?" cried Prue. "Take those nasty things out of the room, Peggy; the smell of them makes me quite sick." Peggie started to go, sniffing them voluptuously. "Poor Robin!" she murmured; "’tis well he can not see how his roses are treated. Nasty things, indeed! I never knew the smell of roses to make you sick before." Prue flew after her. "Margaret!" she exclaimed, with flashing eyes. "How dare you torment me like this? Tell me, this instant, who sent those flowers to me?" "Why, didn’t I tell you they came from Robin?" asked Peggie, regarding her with guileless surprise. "Give them to me this instant! Oh, Peggie, Peggie, you know you tried to make me think Sir Geoffrey sent them—" "I only said he always sent flowers by his lackey," Peggie interposed. "Was there nothing with them? Not a letter, not a message?" Prue went on. "Oh, Peggie, just a word—?" "Not a word. But the day is not over yet, and mayhap Captain Scatterbrain will bring his own message. He is mad enough for anything. Now don’t keep smelling those ’nasty things’—you know the smell of roses makes you sick to-day—and make haste down-stairs. Grandmother is feeling almost well to-day and will take her chocolate in the drawing-room. She wishes you to join her anon, so that she can hear from your own lips all about your triumphs last night." When Prue came down presently, she wore a great cluster of red roses at her breast, and one or two nestled in the rich braids of her hair. It was a pity Robin could not see how well they became her, but they were not altogether wasted, as Sir Geoffrey, coming in a short time later, made them the occasion of some charming compliments. Old Lady Drumloch, with no sign of weakness about her but her delicate waxen pallor, reclined on a couch enveloped in her cashmeres, sipping chocolate, and listening with great complacency to her granddaughter’s account of the masquerade. She greeted Sir Geoffrey without enthusiasm, accepted his congratulations upon her recovery with resignation, and remorselessly turned him over to Peggie for entertainment, while she kept Prue in close attendance upon herself.