not draw it out. "I
wonder if that represents the one thing I'm afraid of?" she considered
whimsically. "What does his majesty mean--himself? Or--myself?
Or--of--of--Yes, I suppose that's it! Am I afraid of it?"

She stood staring down at the one deep red flower, the biggest, finest
bloom of them all. It really did not belong there with the others in
their cool, chaste whiteness. Quite suddenly she drew it out. She made
the motion of throwing it out the window, but it seemed to cling to her
fingers.

"Poor little flower," said she softly, "why should you have to go?
Perhaps you're sorry because you're not white like the rest. But you
can't help it; you were made that way."

If Richard Kendrick could have seen her standing there, staring down at
the flower he had picked, he would have found it harder than ever to go
on his appointed course. For this was what she was thinking:

"I ought--I ought--to like best the white flowers of intellect--and
ability--and training--and every sort of fitness. I try and try to like
them best. But, oh!--they are so white--compared with this red, red one.
I like the white ones; they are pure and cool and beautiful. But--the
red one is warm, warm! Oh, I don't know--I don't know. And how am I
going to know? Tell me that, red flower. Did he pick you? Shall I keep
you--on the doubt? Well--but not where you will show. Yes, I'll keep
you, but away down in the middle, where no one will see you, and where
you won't distract my attention from the beautiful white flowers that
are so different from you."

She bent over the bowlful of snowy spring blossoms, drew them apart, and
sunk the red flower deep among them, drawing them together again so that
not a hint of their alien brother should show against their whiteness.

"There," said she, turning away with a little laugh, but speaking over
her shoulder, "you ought to be satisfied with that. That's certainly
much better than being thrown out of the window, to wilt in the sun!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE NAILING OF A FLAG

"Well--well--well!" drawled a voice at Richard Kendrick's elbow. "How
are you, old man? Haven't seen you since before the days of Noah! Off to
that country shop of yours? I say, take me along, will you? Time hangs
heavy on my hands just now, and I want to see you anyhow, about a plan
of mine."

"Hop in, Lorimer. Mighty glad to see you. Want to go all the way to
Eastman? That's fine! This is great weather, eh?"

Belden L