“Would you give a diamond for a flower, Eunie? Tell me that, dear.”
“No, because diamonds have a certain value as property, and are rarer than flowers. Flowers spring up every where. With a few seeds and a little earth, or with the fiftieth part of the price of a moderate-sized diamond, I can have them at my will. But, give me a little bouquet of sweet flowers, and I will enjoy it more, and love it better, than all the jewels in my casket.”
“I verily believe you would, Eunie. It’s like you. And sometimes I half wish that I, too, could find delight in these simple things; that I could love a flower as you do. Flowers are beautiful, and please me at first sight; but I soon grow weary of them, while you will cherish even a half-opened bud, and love it while a leaf retains its beauty and perfume. But, to change the subject, how are you going to dress at Mrs. Glover’s, next week?”
“I havn’t thought about that, yet. What do you mean to wear?”
“This diamond breast-pin, of course.”
“No doubt of that,” said Eunice, smiling.
“And you will go, as likely as not, without an ornament, except a flower in your hair.”
“Not quite so plain as that, Evie. You know I don’t dislike ornament—only the unharmonious profusion of it in which—”
“I indulge, Eunie.”
“A simpler style of dress and ornament would doubtless become you better,” said Eunice, again smiling. “That, you know, I have always said.”