“Cornflowers and clove pinks. Poppies are too frivolous, and pinks too—”
“White,” said Shelton.
“And mignonette too hard and—”
“Sweet. Why cornflowers?”
Antonia stood before him with her hands against her sides; her figure was so slim and young, her face uncertain and so grave.
“Because they're dark and deep.”
“And why clove pinks?”
Antonia did not answer.
“And why clove pinks?”
“Because,” she said, and, flushing, touched a bee that had settled on her skirt, “because of something in you I don't understand.”