Here is a rosy daisy for some merry
little damsel; there is a scarlet posy for a soldier; this delicate
azalea and fern for some lovely creature just out; and there is a
bunch of sober pansies for a spinster, if spinsters go to 'Germans.'
Heath, scentless but pretty, would do for many; these Parma violets
for one with a sorrow; and this curious purple flower with
arrow-shaped stamens would just suit a handsome, sharp-tongued
woman, if any partner dared give it to her."
David laughed, as his eye went from the flowers to Christie's face,
and when she laid down the last breast-knot, looking as if she would
like the chance of presenting it to some one she knew, he seemed
much amused.
"If the beaux and belles at this party have the wit to read your
posies, my fortune will be made, and you will have your hands full
supplying compliments, declarations, rebukes, and criticisms for the
fashionable butterflies. I wish I could put consolation, hope, and
submission into my work as easily, but I am afraid I can't," he
added a moment afterward with a changed face, as he began to lay the
loveliest white flowers into a box.
"Those are not for a wedding, then?"
"For a dead baby; and I can't seem to find any white and sweet
enough.
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