"You are very fortunate," answered Miss Chressham in a hushed way, "it must make you more tender with my lord."
She passed under the trellis arch that led into the garden, he followed, and they stood among the heavy roses looking at each other.
"What do you mean, cousin?" asked Marius.
She put her hand among the thorns and leaves and shook a huge crimson bloom free from wet.
"This—do not be over-righteous, Marius—when you have found her, and won her, and are as happy as you dreamed, remember my lord's unlovely marriage, and be a little sorry for him."
Her voice broke; she turned away, pressing against the rose bushes; Marius lifted her hand and kissed it in silence.
"I grow sentimental," she cried. "Come, which of these flowers do you think the new Countess would give the preference to?"
She shifted her parasol and her fingers fondled the ribbon on the handle.
"We must pick her some of my roses," she added. "I want to like her, Marius—my lady will be cold with fear, but she might have been sour or vain or common; Rose has always spoken of her as gentle and sweet."