this girl, whose covetous gaze wandered from a gorgeous scarlet and
gold orchid nodding in dreams of its habitat, in some vanilla
scented Brazilian jungle, to a bed of vivid green moss, where
skilful hands had grouped great drooping sprays of waxen begonias,
coral, faint pink, and ivory, all powdered with gold dust like that
which gilds the heart of water-lilies.

Such treasures were reserved for the family of Dives; and counting
her pennies, Beryl entered the store, where instantaneously the
blended breath of heliotrope, tube-rose and mignonette wafted her
across the ocean, to a white-walled fishing village on the Cornice,
whose gray rocks were kissed by the blue lips of the Mediterranean.

"What is the price of that cluster of Niphetos buds?"

"One dollar."

"And that Auratum--with a few rose geranium leaves added?"

"Seventy-five cents. You see it is wonderfully large, and the gold
bands are so very deep."

She put one hand in her pocket and fingered a silver coin, but
poverty is a grim, tyrannous stepmother to tender aestheticism, and
prudential considerations prevailed.

"Give me twenty-five cents worth of those pale blue double violets,
with a sprig of lemon verbena, and a fringe of geranium leaves."

She laid the money on the counter, and while the florist selected