"You have declined all dancing, hence the music has lost its zest for me." "It is not brilliant; besides, it is somewhat of a maypole or harvest-home accomplishment, dancing on the grass; pretty laborious too! And then, as Welsh airs predominate, one could scarcely waltz to the Noble Race of Shenkin." "You reserve yourself for the evening, probably?" "Exactly. I infinitely prefer a well-waxed floor to a lawn, however well mown and rolled. But concerning your--what shall I term it--sadness!" "Why ask me when you may divine the cause, though I dare not explain--here at least?" After a little pause she disengaged two flowers from her bouquet, and presenting them to me with an arch and enchanting smile--for when beyond her mother's ken, she could at times be perfectly natural--she said, "At this floral _fête champêtre_, I cannot permit you to be the only undecorated man." "Being in uniform, I never thought of such an ornament." "Wear these, then," said she, placing them in a button-hole. "As your gift and for your sake?" "If you choose, do so." "Ah, who would not but choose?" said I, rendered quite bright and gay even by such a trifle as this. "But Lady Estelle, do you know what these are emblematic of?" "In the language of the flowers, do you mean?" "Of course; what else could he mean?" said a merry voice; and the bright face of Dora, nestled amid her golden hair, appeared, as she joined us, flushed with her dancing, and her breast palpitating with pleasure, at a time when I most cordially wished her elsewhere. "Yes," she continued, "there is a pansy; that's for thought, as Ophelia says--and a rosebud; that is for affection." "But I don't believe in such symbolism, Dora; do you. Mr. Hardinge?" "At this moment I do, from my soul."