"They aren't so much in Mr. Lloyd-Jones' style as these," replied Madame Reynier. She had a faculty of commenting pleasantly without the least hint of criticism. This remark delighted Melanie. "No; I should never picture Mr. Lloyd-Jones as a garden pink. But then, Auntie, you remember how eloquent he was about the hills and the stars. That speech did not at all indicate a hothouse nature." "Nevertheless, I think his sentiments have been cultivated, like his orchids." "Not a bad achievement," said Melanie. There was an interval of silence, while the younger woman stood looking out of the window and Madame Reynier cut the leaves of a French journal. She did not read, however, and presently she broke the silence. "I don't remember that Mr. Van Camp ever sent orchids to you." "Mr. Van Camp never gave me any kind of flower. He thinks flowers are the most intimate of all gifts, and should only be exchanged between sweethearts. At least, I heard him expound some such theory years ago, when we first knew him." Madame smiled--a significant smile, if any one had been looking. Nothing further was said until Melanie unexpectedly shot straight to the mark with: "How do you think he would do, Auntie, in place of Count Lorenzo?" Madame Reynier showed no surprise. "He is a sterling man; but your cousin would never consent to it." "And if I should not consult my cousin?" "My dear Melanie, that would entail many embarrassing consequences; and embarrassments are worse than crimes." Melanie could laugh at that, and did. "I've already answered a note from Mr. Van Camp this morning; Auntie. No, don't worry," she playfully answered a sudden anxious look that came upon her aunt's countenance, "I've not said 'yes' to him. But he's coming to see me at twelve. If I don't give him a chance to say what he has to say, he'll take one anywhere. He's capable of proposing on the street-cars. Besides, I have something also to say to him." "Well, my dear, you know best; certainly I think you know best," was Madame Reynier's last word. Mr. Van Camp arrived on the stroke of twelve, an expression of happiness on his lean, quizzical face. "I'm supposed to be starting on a cruise," he told Melanie, "but luck is with me. My cousin hasn't turned up--or rather he turned up only to disappear instantly. Otherwise he would have dragged me off to catch the first ebb-tide, with me hanging back like an anchor-chain." "Is your cousin, then, such a tyrant?" "Oh, yes; he's a masterful man, is Jimmy." "And how did he 'disappear instantly?' It sounds mysterious." "It is mysterious, but Jim can take care of himself; at least, I hope he can. The message said he had sailed on the _Jeanne D'Arc_, whatever that is, and that I was to look after our hired yacht, the _Sea Gull_."