about it, and about yourself, won’t you, Rosa? I care very much for the daughter, as you called it just now, but I care even much more for the mother.”
“To-morrow?” said Rosa, looking at Cornelius askance,” I don’t know whether I shall be able to-morrow.
“Good Heavens!” said Cornelius, “why can’t you come to-morrow?”
“Mynheer Cornelius, I have lots of things to do.”
“And I have only one,” muttered Cornelius.
“Yes,” said Rosa, “to love your tulip.”
“To love you, Rosa.”
Rosa shook her head, after which followed a pause.
“Well”—Cornelius at last broke the silence—“well, Rosa, everything changes in the realm of nature; the flowers of spring are succeeded by other flowers; and the bees, which so tenderly caressed the violets and the wallflowers, will flutter with just as much love about the honeysuckles, the rose, the jessamine, and the caruation.”
“What does all this mean?” asked Rosa.
“You have abandoned me, Miss Rosa, to seek your pleasure elsewhere. You have done well, and I will not complain. What claim have I to your fidelity?”
“My fidelity!” Rosa exclaimed, with her eyes full of tears, and without caring any longer to hide from Cornelius this dew of pearls dropping on her cheeks, “my fidelity have I not been faithful to you?”
“Do you call it faithful to desert me, and to leave. me here to die?”
“But, Mynheer Cornelius,” said Rosa, am I not doing everything for you that could give you pleasure? have I not devoted myself to your tulip?”
"You are bitter, Rosa; you reproach me with the only unalloyed pleasure which I have had in this world.”
