admire so for a pattern."

"That I will, with pleasure."

"Shall you come back through the garden? If you don't--never mind;
but, if you do, you may choose me a bouquet. The servants are
incapable of a bouquet."

"I will; thank you, dear. How kind and thoughtful of you to give me
something to occupy me now that I am a little sad." Mrs. Bazalgette
accepted this tribute with a benignant smile, and the ladies parted.


The next morning a traveling-carriage, with four smoking post-horses,
came wheeling round the gravel to the front door. Uncle Fountain's
factotum got down from the dicky, packed Lucy's imperial on the roof,
and slung a box below the dicky; stowed her maid away aft, arranged
the foot-cushion and a shawl or two inside, and, half obsequiously,
half bumptiously, awaited the descent of his fair charge.

Then, upstairs, came a sudden simultaneous attack of ardent lips, and
a long, clinging embrace that would have graced the most glorious,
passionate, antique love. Sculpture outdone, the young lady went down,
and was handed into the carriage. Her ardent aunt followed presently,
and fired many glowing phrases in at the window; and, just as the
carriage moved, she uttered a single word quite quietly, as much as to
say, Now, this I mean. This genuine word, the last Aunt Bazalgette
spoke, had been, two hundred years before, the last word of Charles
the First. Note the coincidences of history.