“The last verse is the best in that little poem. Have you forgotten it?” he said, pleased and surprised to find the new-comer singing Herrick’s lines “To Violets.” “Almost; my father used to say that when we went looking for early violets, and these lovely ones reminded me of it,” explained Christie, rather abashed. [Illustration: DAVID AND CHRISTIE IN THE GREENHOUSE.] As if to put her at ease David added, as he laid another handful of double-violets on the table: “‘Y’ are the maiden posies, And so graced, To be placed Fore damask roses. Yet, though thus respected, By and by Ye do lie, Poor girls, neglected.’ “I always think of them as pretty, modest maids after that, and can’t bear to throw them away, even when faded.” Christie hoped he did not think her sentimental, and changed the conversation by pointing to her work, and saying, in a business-like way: “Will these do? I have varied the posies as much as possible, so that they may suit all sorts of tastes and whims. I never went to a ‘German’ myself; but I have looked on, and remember hearing the young people say the little bouquets didn’t mean any thing, so I tried to make these expressive.” “Well, I should think you had succeeded excellently, and it is a very pretty fancy. Tell me what some of them mean: will you?” “You should know better than I, being a florist,” said Christie, glad to see he approved of her work. “I can grow the flowers, but not read them,” and David looked rather depressed by his own ignorance of those delicate matters. Still with the business-like air, Christie held up one after another of the little knots, saying soberly, though her eyes smiled: “This white one might be given to a newly engaged girl, as suggestive of the coming bridal. That half-blown bud would say a great deal from a lover to his idol; and this heliotrope be most encouraging to a timid swain. Here is a rosy daisy for some merry little damsel; there is a scarlet posy for a soldier; this delicate azalea and fern for some lovely creature just out; and there is a bunch of sober pansies for a spinster, if spinsters go to ‘Germans.’ Heath, scentless but pretty, would do for many; these Parma violets for one with a sorrow; and this curious purple flower with arrow-shaped stamens would just suit a handsome, sharp-tongued woman, if any partner dared give it to her.” David laughed, as his eye went from the flowers to Christie’s face, and when she laid down the last breast-knot, looking as if she would like the chance of presenting it to some one she knew, he seemed much amused.