are all alone, except
for me, and in the nature of things you can't have me always. Now that
you are young, you think it an easy thing to break away from the ties
of blood and birth; but believe me, it isn't easy. You, with your
nature, could never do it. The call of the land is strong, and the
time will come when you will long to go home, long to go back to the
land where your father led his soldiers, and where your mother was
admired and loved."

Madame Reynier paused and watched her niece, who, with eyes cast down,
was toying with her spoon. Suddenly a crimson flush rose and spread
over Melanie's cheeks and forehead and neck, and when she looked up
into Madame Reynier's face, she was gazing through unshed tears. She
rose quickly, came round to the older woman's chair and kissed her
cheek affectionately.

"Dear Auntie, you are very good to me, and patient, too. It's all
true, I suppose; but the prospect of home and Count Lorenzo
together--ah, well!" she smiled reassuringly and again caressed Madame
Reynier's gaunt old face. "I'll think it all over, Auntie dear."

Madame Reynier followed Melanie into her sitting-room, bringing the
precious orchids in her two hands, fearful lest the fragile vase should
fall. Melanie regarded them a moment, and then said she thought they
would do better in the drawing-room.

"I sometimes think the little garden pink quite as pretty as an orchid."

"They aren't so much in Mr. Lloyd-Jones' style as these," replied
Madame Reynier. She had a faculty of commenting pleasantly without the
least hint of criticism. This remark delighted Melanie.

"No; I should never picture Mr. Lloyd-Jones as a garden pink. But
then, Auntie, you remember how eloquent he was about the hills and the
stars. That speech did not at all indicate a hothouse nature."

"Nevertheless, I think his sentiments have been cultivated, like his
orchids."

"Not a bad achievement," said Melanie.

There was an interval of silence, while the younger woman stood looking
out of the window and Madame Reynier cut the leaves of a French
journal. She did not read, however, and presently she broke the
silence. "I don't remember that Mr. Van Camp ever sent orchids to you."

"Mr. Van Camp never gave me any kind of flower. He thinks flowers are
the most intimate of all gifts, and should only be exchanged between
sweethearts. At least, I heard him expound some such theory years ago,
when we first knew him."

Madam