m very sorry to hurt you, Agnes; but Lucy herself--dear, sweet,
precious Lucy--liked the idea of each of the children being called
after a flower; not baptismally, of course, but in their home life.
One of the very last things she said to me before she died was, "Call
the little one Delphinium." Now, have we not talked enough on this, to
me, _most_ painful subject? My Lucy and I were one in heart and deed.'

'Alas, alas!' said Miss Delacour. 'How hard it is to get men to
understand! I knew Lucy longer than you. I brought her up; I trained
her. The good that was in her she owed to me. She has passed on--a
beautiful expression _that_--but I feel a voice within me saying--a
voice which is her voice--"Agnes, remember my children. Agnes, think
of my children. Do for them what is right. Remember their father's
great weakness."'

'Thanks,' replied Lennox. 'That voice in your breast did not come from
Lucy.'

Miss Delacour gave a short, sharp sigh.

'Oh, the ignorance of men!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, the silly, false pride
of men! They think themselves the very best in the world, whereas they
are in reality a poor, very poor lot.'

Lennox fidgeted in his chair.

'How long will this lecture take?' he said. 'As a rule I go to bed
early, as the children and I have a swim in the lake before breakfast
each morning.'

'How are they taught other things besides swimming?' asked Miss
Delacour.

'Taught?' echoed Lennox. 'For their ages they are well instructed. My
sister and I manage their education between us.'

'George, I suppose you will end by marrying again. All men in your
class and with your disposition do so.'

'Agnes, I forbid you to speak to me on that subject again. Once for
all, poor weak man as you consider me, I put down my foot, and will not
discuss that most painful subject. Lucy is the only wife I shall ever
have. I have, thank God, my sister and my sweet girls, and I do not
want anything more. I am a widower for life. Cecilia is a widow for
life. We rejoice in the thought of meeting the dear departed in a
happier world. Now try not to pain me any more. Good-night, Agnes.
You are a little--nay, _more_ than a little--trying.'

'I've not an idea of going to bed yet,' said Miss Delacour, 'for I have
not divulged my scheme. You have got to listen to it, George, whether
you like it or not.'

'I suppose I have,' said George Lennox. He sat down, and made a
violent struggle to restrain his i