“How would a lily do?” Alice asked, and Helen replied, “No, thanks. You have chosen the lily, and resemble it more than I do. I ought to have a rose.” Here Celine, who had heard all the conversation, said, “There is a beautiful rose on the table in the salon. It was there last night. Shall I bring it for mademoiselle?” She did not wait for an answer, but hurrying to the salon returned with the rose which, though not quite as fresh as the previous night, was still very fragrant. “Oh, what a beauty! Did it grow in the garden? If so, there must be more,” Helen said, inhaling the perfume, while Celine replied, “It didn’t grow here. I asked Sarah and she said Monsieur Hilton put it on the table. She did not know where he got it. Monsieur Mason helped pick and arrange the _fleurs-de-lis_ in the centre of the table. There are plenty of those. Shall I gather some for Mademoiselle?” Helen was radiant. Both young men had put flowers on the table,—for _her_, no doubt. Fond as she was of Alice, she never thought she could be considered before or with herself. Everything was for Helen Tracy first; then, Alice, if anything were left. _“Fleurs-de-lis!_ Yes, I remember thinking them pretty with the ferns. And Mr. Mason put them there? I ought to feel flattered and to wear one of them. His color, too, as he is a Yale man; but they will not go well with these ribbons. I must wear Mr. Hilton’s rose. I hope it won’t fall to pieces. It does seem a little droopy.” She fastened it in a knot of delicate pink ribbon near her shoulder where it would be very conspicuous, and declared herself ready for the preparatory skirmish. “I suppose one can go on the north piazza any time. I wonder if Mr. Mason is there still? Celine, please go and see,” she said. Celine went out, and when they were alone Alice, who had never had quite so clear an insight into Helen’s character before, said to her, “Do you care for Mr. Mason?” “Of course not. How should I, when I don’t know him,” Helen replied, and Alice continued, “Then why not leave him alone. Will it be any satisfaction to win him just to throw him over as you have so many others? Is it right, or womanly?” “A second Portia come to judgment,” and Helen laughed merrily. “Seriously, though, it isn’t right, or womanly. It is wicked and mean, and I know it as well as you do, and I had made up my mind to quit the business, and maybe take Mr. Prescott for fear some terrible judgment would overtake me. But when I heard Mr. Mason was here all the old Satan woke up in me, and I said I’ll pay him for his slight of me last summer. Perhaps I shall not throw him over. He may be the twenty-first and last. Who knows? I shall be twenty-three in December,—time I was married. Is he there?” and she turned to Celine who had just entered the room and who reported that he was there with Monsieur Hilton and Monsieur Taylor, too.