"I'd as lieve be balm as anything else, if I knew how," said Miss
Bezac; "but I shouldn't call that putting me down."
"That fits, anyhow," said Squire Stoutenburgh.
"'Balm for hurt minds'"—said Dr. Harrison writing. "Miss Julia De Staff is a white lily. Miss Emmons—a morning glory. Mrs. Churchill a peony. Miss Derrick is mignonette. Mrs. Somers—?"
"I may as well be lavender," said Mrs. Somers. "You say I am in a good state of preservation."
"What is Mr. Somers?"
"Mr. Somers—what are you?" said his wife.
"Ha!—I don't know, my dear," said Mr. Somers blandly. "I think I am—a—out of place."
"Then you're a moth," said the doctor. "That is out of place too, in most people's opinion. Miss Delaney, I beg your pardon—what are you?"
"Here are the two Miss Churchills, doctor," said Miss Essie—"hyacinth and laburnum."
"I am sure you have been sponsor, Miss Essie. Well this is my garden of flowers. Then of fellow insects I have a somewhat confused variety. Mr. Stoutenburgh sings round his hearth in the shape of a black cricket. Mr. Linden passes unnoticed in the invisibility of a midge—nothing more dangerous. Mr. Somers does all the mischief he can in the way of devouring widows' houses. The two Messrs. De Staff" (two very spruce and moustachioed young gentlemen) "figure as wasp and snail—one would hardly think they belonged to the same family—but there is no accounting for these things. Mr. George Somers professes to have the taste of a bee—but luckily the garden belongs to the butterfly."