"Yes, Mr. John. Just taken a box up to the rooms."
Jack looked relieved, and sprang upstairs two steps at a time. He opened the box. There they were in all their exquisite freshness. "Like her," he thought, touching his lips to them; then, suddenly straightening himself, he felt the blood surge into his face.
"I like Dord's way of putting up his flowers, no tags, nor fol-de-rols. Jason," he said, as he ran down stairs again, "I shall be back in an hour; tell Thomas to have everything laid out--I 'm in a hurry. And have a messenger-boy here when I come back, and don't forget to order the carriage for quarter of eight, sharp."
"Yes, Mr. John."
"Messenger-boy come?" he inquired as Jason opened the door on his return.
"Yes, sir, waiting in the hall."
Jack raced up stairs. There was the precious box on his dressing-table. He hastily took a visiting card, and, writing on it the sentiment that was uppermost in his heart, slipped it into the envelope, gave it, together with the box, to the waiting boy, and bade him hand it to the man, Wilkins, with the request that it be sent up at once to the lady to whom it was addressed. Then he made ready for dinner.
An hour later, Rose was dressing for the dance, and Hazel was watching her, chatting volubly all the while.
"That's the loveliest dress, Rose, I heard Aunt Carrie say, you couldn't buy such, nowadays."
"It was Martie's wedding-dress. An uncle of her mother's, who was a sea-captain, brought it from India. But if I wear it many more times, it will be known throughout the length of New York. This is my sixth time."