He paused, and Erica laughed. It was absurd to stand on ceremony with this kindred spirit.
“Have you seen the conservatory?” he asked. “Shall we come in there? I want to hear all about the Osmonds.”
The relief of speaking with one who knew and loved Charles Osmond, and did not, for want of real knowledge, brand him with the names of half a dozen heresies, was very great. It was not for some time that Erica even glanced at the lovely surroundings, though she had inherited Raeburn's great love of flowers. At last, however, an exquisite white flower attracted her notice, and she broke off in the middle of a sentence.
“Oh, how lovely! I never saw anything like that before. What is it?”
“It is the EUCHARIS AMAZONICA,” replied her companion “About the most exquisite flower in the world, I should think the 'dove flower,' as my little ones call it. Ir you look at it from a distance the stamens really look like doves bending down to drink.”
“It is perfect! How I wish my father could see it!”
“We have a fairly good one at Oakdene, though not equal to this. We must persuade you and Mr. Raeburn to come and stay with us some day.”
The tears came into Erica's eyes, so great was the contrast between his friendliness and the chilling discourtesy she had met with from others that evening.
“You are very good,” she said. “If you only knew how hard it is to be treated as if one were a sort of semi-criminal!”
“I do know,” he said. “It was this very society which goaded me into a sort of wild rebellion years ago. I deserved its bad opinion in a measure, and you do not, but it was unfair enough to make one pretty desperate.”