perfumes to which city bouquets are utter strangers. Arranging
flowers is a favorite pastime of mine, but upon this particular
occasion I enjoyed my work more than I had ever done before. Not
that I was in love with Miss Mayton; a man may honestly and
strongly admire a handsome, brilliant woman without being in love
with her; he can delight himself in trying to give her pleasure,
without feeling it necessary that she shall give him herself in
return. Since I arrived at years of discretion, I have always
smiled sarcastically at the mention of the generosity of men who
were in love; they have seemed to me rather to be asking an
immense price for what they offered. I had no such feeling toward
Miss Mayton. There have been heathens who have offered gifts to
goddesses out of pure adoration and without any idea of ever
having the exclusive companionship of their favorite divinities. I
never offered Miss Mayton any attention which did not put me into
closer sympathy with these same great-souled old Pagans, and with
such Christians as follow their good example. With each new grace
my bouquet took on, my pleasure and satisfaction increased at the
thought of how SHE would enjoy the completed evidence of my taste.

At length it was finished, but my delight suddenly became clouded
by the dreadful thought, "What will folks say?" Had we been in New
York instead of Hillcrest, no one but the florist, his messenger,
the lady and myself would know if I sent a bouquet to Miss Mayton;
but in Hillcrest, with its several hundred native-born gossips and
its acquaintance of everybody with everybody else and their
affairs, I feared talk. Upon the discretion of Mike, the coachman,
I could safely rely; I had already confidentially conveyed sundry
bits of fractional currency to him, and informed him of one of the
parties at our store whose family Mike had known in Old Erin; but