But his face darkened
again when Eric demurely remarked "Don't you think 'my soldier-lad'
would have fitted the tune just as well!"
"Why, so it would!" Lady Muriel gaily retorted.
"Soldiers, sailors, tinkers, tailors, what a lot of words would fit in!
I think 'my tinker-lad sounds best. Don't you?"
To spare my friend further pain, I rose to go, just as the Earl was
beginning to repeat his particularly embarrassing question about the
flowers.
"You have not yet--'
"Yes, I've had some tea, thank you!" I hastily interrupted him.
"And now we really must be going. Good evening, Lady Muriel!"
And we made our adieux, and escaped, while the Earl was still absorbed
in examining the mysterious bouquet.
Lady Muriel accompanied us to the door. "You couldn't have given my
father a more acceptable present!" she said, warmly. "He is so
passionately fond of Botany. I'm afraid I know nothing of the theory
of it, but I keep his Hortus Siccus in order. I must get some sheets
of blotting-paper, and dry these new treasures for him before they fade.
"That won't be no good at all!" said Bruno, who was waiting for us in
the garden.
"Why won't it?" said I. "You know I had to give the flowers, to stop
questions?
"Yes, it ca'n't be helped," said Sylvie: "but they will be sorry when
they find them gone!"
"But how will they go?"
"Well, I don't know how. But they will go. The nosegay was only a Phlizz,
you know.
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