"If I could only have one flower, I should have lilies of the valley,
the small ones that grow wild and smell so jolly."

He had a swift vision of another flower, dark--very different, and was
silent.

"What would you have, Mark?" Her voice sounded a little hurt. "You ARE
thinking of one, aren't you?"

He said honestly:

"Yes, I am."

"Which?"

"It's dark, too; you wouldn't care for it a bit."

"How d'you know?"

"A clove carnation."

"But I do like it--only--not very much."

He nodded solemnly.

"I knew you wouldn't."

Then a silence fell between them. She had ceased to lean against him,
and he missed the cosy friendliness of it. Now that their voices and
the cawings of the rooks had ceased, there was nothing heard but the dry