A thin smile curved Mrs. Verulam's lips. She took the flowers, glanced at their dusky beauty, touched their velvet petals with her fingers, then laid them down carelessly.
"They are remarkably fine specimens, ma'am," said Marriner. "I often think——" she checked herself.
"Yes, Marriner; what do you think?"
"That we are like the flowers, ma'am: we fade and die so soon."
"Dear me, Marriner, what original thoughts you have!"
"I can't help them coming, ma'am. They seem to take me like a storm, ma'am."
"Oh! more cards: General and Mrs. Le Mesurier, Lord Simeon, the Prince and Princess of Galilee—what curious names people are born with!—Mr. Marchington. Why will so many people call?"
"I think they wish to see you, ma'am."
"I know. But that's just it, Marriner; that is the problem."
"I like problems, ma'am."