er among the blooming
flowers.

"There is the bell for lunch," she said at last. "We have been here
nearly three hours."

"Most of your attendants look slightly deranged," said Lionel. "I am
sure I saw poor Donald weeping over his favorite plants. He told me
confidentially they would be fit for nothing after the heat of the ball
room."

"I shall invent some means of consolation for him," she replied. "I
like dancing among the bright flowers. Why should we not have
everything gay and bright and beautiful, if we can?"

"Why not?" said Lionel, gravely. "Ah, Miss Earle, why are we not
always young and beautiful and happy? Why must flowers die, beauty
fade, love grow old? Ask a philosopher--do not ask me. I know the
answer, but let some one else give it to you."

"Philosophy does not interest me at present," she said. "I like
flowers, music, and dancing better. I hope I shall never tire of them;
sometimes--but that is only when I am serious or tired--I feel that I
shall never live to grow old. I can not imagine my eyes dim or my hair
gray. I can not imagine my heart beating slowly. I can not realize a
day when the warmth and beauty of life will have changed into cold and
dullness."

Even as she spoke a gentle arm stole round her, a fair, spirituelle
face, eyes full of clear, saintly light looked into hers, and a soft
voice whispered to her of something not earthly, not of flowers and
music, not of life and gayety, something far beyond these, and the
proud eyes for a moment grew dim with tears.

"Lily," she said, "I am not so good as you, but I will endeavor to be.
Let me enjoy myself first, just for a short time; I will be good, dear."

Her mood changed then, and Lord Airlie thought her more entrancing than
ever.

"That is the kind of wife I want," thought Lionel Dacre to himself,
looking at Lillian--"some one to guide me, to teach me. Ah, if women
only understood their mission! That girl looked as I can imagine only
guardian angels look--I wish she would be mine."

Lord Airlie left the conservatory, with its thousand flowers, more in
love than ever.

He would wait, he said to himself, until the ball was over; then he
would ask Beatrice Earle to be his wife. If she refused him, he would
go far away where no one knew him; if she accepted him, he would be her
devoted slave. She should be a queen, and he would be her knight.

Ah! What thanks would he return to Heaven if so great a blessing
should