Mrs. Paine rose at this moment to go, and Hilary, glad to escape from the eyes bent on her, prepared with pleasure to take leave of the whole party. Charles, however, accompanied them out of the room, and then, as they were crossing the vestibule, repeated his request that they would come and look at his camellias; adding, with a quiet, grave courtesy, which he had assumed since his return, “I hope it was by your own choice that it is so long since you have entered the conservatory: for though it was optional with you and your sisters to visit it, it was not left so with the servants whether you should be admitted.” “I am afraid, from your saying that, Mr. Huyton,” replied Hilary, “that Sybil omitted to thank you for your thoughtful kindness. I assure you, my sisters have paid several visits here during the winter, as Mrs. Paine can testify, having accompanied them every time.” “Yes, laying claim to relationship,” said Mrs. Paine, smiling, “I ventured on that liberty.” “I am truly glad your sisters enjoyed it,” was his answer; he saw at once the reason why Hilary herself had scrupulously avoided similar visits: he did not like her the less. He cut huge branches of heliotrope, and the loveliest camellias he could find, “to send to her sisters,” as he said. Most gardeners would have been in despair at the liberties he took; but Mr. Huyton was peculiar, and with his gardener, Mr. Allan, the Miss Duncans were great favorites; so perhaps the surveyor to the conservatory did not grumble very much. “Your library has been a great resource to my father,” said Hilary presently, wishing to say something which should show gratitude, and avoid misconstruction; “he has often expressed himself so much obliged to you for your liberality.” “Is not that a lovely bud?” said he, holding up a half-blown camellia, whose delicate white petals were just displaying the fringe which gives them such an air of lightness and refinement. “How I do love a pure, delicate, unostentatious flower, which seems unconscious of its own charms, and shrinks modestly from sight.” He placed it in her hand as he spoke; the only blossom he gave her; the rest he deposited in a basket to be carried to Hurstdene. “I think you love flowers better than ever,” was her observation, very innocently made. “I do,” replied he, gravely, with eyes turned away in another direction. “Take this little peeping red and white bud to Nest with my love, it is the very image of her dear little face. See how coquettishly it half looks out, half hides.” He said this in a light and playful tone, and she made him a smiling answer, and then Mrs. Paine, having concluded a dialogue she had been holding with Mr. Allan, summoned Hilary to the carriage. As he helped her in, he said, but without looking up at her―― “Was not I right in saying my cousin had nothing to do with lilies of the valley?”