to us next winter, if you persist in being — by way of showing
your superiority to ordinary human nature — a rose without a
thorn, the rest of the flowers may all shut up at once. And
the rose reddens in my very face, to spite me!"

"Is 'ordinary human nature' typified by a thorn? You give it
rather a poor character."

"I never heard of a thorn that didn't bear an excellent
character," said Constance, gravely.

"Hush!" said Fleda, laughing; "I don't want to hear about Mr.
Thorn. Tell me of somebody else."

"I haven't said a word about Mr. Thorn!" said Constance,
ecstatically; "but since you ask about him, I will tell you.
He has not acted like himself since you disappeared from our
horizon — that is, he has ceased to be at all pointed in his
attentions to me; his conversation has lost all the acuteness
for which I remember you admired it; he has walked Broadway in
a moody state of mind all winter, and grown as dull as is
consistent with the essential sharpness of his nature. I ought
to except our last interview, though, for his entreaties to
Mamma that she would bring you home with her were piercing."

Fleda was unable, in spite of herself, to keep from laughing;
but entreated that Constance would tell her of somebody else.

"My respected parents are at Montepoole, with all their
offspring — that is, Florence and Edith; I am at present