"It is certainly a strange fancy," observed Rosilia.
"O no, do not call that strange, the mere cursory glance at which operates upon me with all the secret power of a wonderful and magnetic charm! I am attracted to those leaves, dried and withered as they are, by sentiments—yes, by sentiments incorporated with my soul, my life, my being! Can you forget! Is your memory so short? Must I remind you of the contention between Sir Howard and myself about those same leaves. That myrtle and rose,—you granted them to me! I have ever since cherished them! Do you blame me—you surely cannot blame me?"
Wishing to dispel the sentimentality gathering over Melliphant, Rosilia replied to him in raillery, "I wish," said she, "I had known you were such an admirer of those flowers, I could have procured you some before; but you may still have as many as you please from us, having at present some large pots of each in full blossom."
That Rosilia should thus unexpectedly have thrown ridicule upon his words, confused, and rendered him at a loss to reply. Seeking to master himself, however, after a short pause, he replied,
"You, who are truly fond of flowers, whose pencil gives to art so finished a representation of nature, how would your pleasure be increased, by uniting with this talent a knowledge of botany. You can form no conception of the delight,—the intellectual
