ng post around its walls, and a vase of flowers on the
balustrade at the foot of the staircase. But those were not the flowers
the lady had meant; she passed on to one of the inner rooms, and from
that to another, and finally into a pretty greenhouse, with glass
windows looking out to the mountains and the river, filled on this side
of the windows with tropical bloom. While the girls gazed in wonder,
the lady stepped back into the room they had left, and threw off her
wrappings. When she came again to the girls in the greenhouse, they
hardly knew which to look at, her or the flowers; her dress and whole
appearance were so unlike anything they had ever seen.

"Which do you like best?" she said. "The roses, you know, of course;
these are camellias,--and these--and these red ones too; all camellias.
These are myrtle; these are heath; these are geraniums--all those are
geraniums. This is Eupatorium--those, yes, those are azaleas, and
those,--and all those. Yes, all azaleas. You like them? This is
bigonia. What do you like best?"

It was a long while before Matilda could divide and define her
admiration enough to tell what she liked best. Carnations and heath
were found at last to have her best favour. The lady cut a bouquet for
her with plenty of carnations and heath, but a variety of other beauty
too; then led the girls into the other room and offered them some rich
cake and a glass of what Matilda supposed to be wine. She took the cake
and refused the cordial.

"It is very sweet," said the lady. "You will not dislike it; and it
will warm you, this cold afternoon."

"I may not drink wine, ma'am, thank you," Matilda answered.

"It is not wine. Does it make you sick, my dear? Are you afraid to try
it? Your sister is not afraid. I think it will do you good."

Being thus reassured, Matilda put the glass to her lips, but
immediately set it down again.

"You do not like it?" said the lady.

"I like it; but--it is strong?" said Matilda, inquiringly.

"Why, yes, it would not be good for anything if it were not strong.
Never mind that--if you like it. The glass does not hold but a
thimbleful, and a thimbleful will not hurt you. Why, why not, my dear?"

Matilda looked up, and coloured and hesitated.

"I have promised not," she said.

"So solemnly?" said the lady, laughing. "Is it your mother you have
promised?"

"No, ma'am."

"Not your mother? You have a mother?"

"Oh yes, ma'am."

"Would she have any objection?