"It seems a long time since I saw you," she said, "though it really is not two months." "Sometimes," he answered, gravely, "so much suffering can be crowded into two months that it may well seem two centuries." "Ah! yes." She set her lips suddenly in the straight line with which she was wont to keep back a sob. After a moment, "Have you seen Lulu?" "Yes, I have seen her," going over patiently, and at more length, the information he had just given his sister, talking this time brightly and cheerfully. "I feel almost assured he will be found; he must be--'there is no such word as fail,' you know, in the 'lexicon of youth,'--and I think you are giving up too easily. You will undermine your health already weakened by your severe illness. Why, you have the appearance of one who has given up all hope." "And I have," she calmly made answer. "That is simply suicidal," he said, trying to rouse her into hope with all the strength of his strong, true nature. "You are so kind, Captain Clendenon," she flashed a blinding ray of gratitude from her dusk eyes upon him, "so kind to go and look for him--my baby--believe me, I never, never can forget it, though I feel that all search will be in vain--still, still, it is so kind, so noble in you to do all this, and I know you are doing it for me," laying her small hand mechanically on his coat-sleeve in a childish fashion she had, and keeping the grateful eyes still on his face. "Mrs. Winans," he answered, quite gravely, "I would go to the ends of the earth to serve you--any man who knows your unmerited sufferings, and appreciates you as well as I do, could not do less, I think." "Thank you," she murmured, with the faintest quiver in the music of her voice. "And now," he spoke less gravely, and more brightly, "I think I must be saying good-by. Is there anything I can do for you on the other side of the Atlantic--any commission for Parisian finery--any message for your husband?" "Nothing--thanks," she answered, decisively. He sighed, but did not urge the matter. "You are not going to send me to Europe without one flower, and so rich in floral blessings?" his glance roving over the booming wilderness of beauty and fragrance all around her. "No, indeed, but you are not going yet. You will certainly stay to luncheon, will you not?" "I cannot--thanks!" "You shall have all the flowers you want. What are your favorites? Pray help yourself to all you fancy, and welcome," she urged, earnestly. He glanced around. Everything rare, and sweet, and bright he could think of, glowed lavishly around him, but the only white rose that had blown that day she had quite mechanically broken and placed on her breast. "I only want one flower. I like white roses best," he answers.