"I only hope," he said a little gravely, "that your uncle will not
expect too much from my coming. It seems churlish to refuse, and even
though our views are as far apart as the poles, I know that your uncle
means well."

She smiled at him delightfully.

"I refuse to be depressed even by your solemn looks," she declared. "It
is my twenty-fourth birthday to-day and I am still young enough to cling
to my optimism."

"Your birthday," he remarked. "I should have brought you an offering."

She held up the roses.

"Nothing in the world," she assured him softly, "could have given me
more pleasure than these. Now I am going to take you first into a
little den where you will not be disturbed, and then fetch my uncle,"
she added, as they passed into the house. "I shall pray for your mutual
conversion. You won't mind a very feminine room, will you? Just now
there are certain to be callers at any moment, and my uncle's rooms are
liable to all manner of intrusions."

She threw open the door and ushered him into what seemed indeed to be a
little fairy chamber, a chamber with yellow walls and yellow rug, white
furniture, oddments of china and photographs, silver-grey etchings,
water-colour landscapes, piles of books and magazines. On a small table
stood a yellow Sèvres vase, full of roses.