"I will. Can you tell me the name of this flower which I found in your
greenhouse. It looks much like a California blossom."

"Perhaps it is. Father bought it of a half-crazy old man who came here
one day. Do you know him?"

Islington laughed. "I am afraid not. But let me present this in a less
business-like fashion."

"Thank you. Remind me to give you one in return before you go,--or will
you choose yourself?"

They had both risen as by a common instinct.

"Good by."

The cool flower-like hand lay in his for an instant.

"Will you oblige me by putting aside that leaf a moment before I go?"

"But my eyes are red, and I look like a perfect fright."

Yet, after a long pause, the leaf fluttered down, and a pair of very
beautiful but withal very clear and critical eyes met his. Islington was
constrained to look away. When he turned again, she was gone.

"Mister Hislington,--sir!"

It was Chalker, the English groom, out of breath with running.