"Ah! these are what I should enjoy," cried Flora; "I am so fond of music and of flowers."
"Dear simplicity, do you imagine that any one goes to a concert to listen, or to a garden to look at the flowers? You go to talk, and to see your friends, and quiz the company, and--kill time!"
"And do you never grow weary?" asked Flora,
"Weary; yes, half tired to death, quite ennuyée; but then the only way to restore one's jaded spirits is to plunge deeper into gaiety; the excitement, and the bustle, and the diversion, become quite a necessity at last."
"It reminds me--but I'll not say of what it reminds me."
"Not say? but you must, and shall. What does it remind you of, little philosopher?"
"The craving which some very vulgar people, to whom I should never dream of comparing my friends, have for another kind of stimulant."
"It is a sort of intoxication, you mean," said Ada, gaily. "I will not deny it; a very pleasant sort of intoxication. I wish that you would come to Grosvenor Square and try it."
Flora gently shook her head.
"What! you are afraid of being contaminated by my evil example, I suppose! You look on gaiety as a dangerous glass of champagne; and have all here taken the pledge not to go beyond a cup of the very weakest green tea?"