I suggested the effectiveness of daily hand-picking.
"Oh, but bless me! it's so much trouble. Mr. Roberts would never let the time be taken for it. How stout your grass is! It's a great deal stouter than ours. There's half as much again of it, I'm sure. And you're cutting it! We haven't begun to cut yet; Mr. Roberts thought he'd let it stand as long as he could, to give it a chance; but I'm sure it's time. What do you do with all your roses?—make rose-water?"
I said no.
"I never saw such a quantity! I'll tell you what—if you'll send me a basket or two of 'em, I'll make some rose-water, and you shall have half of it. Oh, what beautiful heart's-ease! My dear Caroline, you must just give me one of those for my girls, for a pattern; you know they are making artificial flowers, and they want some of these for their bonnets. Really, they are quite equal to the French ones, I think, and—thank you!—that is superb. Now, my dear Caroline, one more—that one with so much yellow in it;—want a little variety, you know. They will be delighted. You know it is just the fashion."
"I did not, indeed, Mrs. Roberts."
"Didn't you? They wear little open bonnets of some light straw—rice is the prettiest, or some kind of open-work—and here, at the side, just here, a bunch of heart's-ease, right against the side of the head;—it is very elegant."
"Caroline has bad taste," said my father gravely; "she never wears heart's-ease in a bonnet."
"O no, of course, not these,—she is too careful of them—but you know false heart's-ease, I mean. No, go on with your walk—you shall not come in—I am not going to stay a minute."
And my father and I quietly turned about and went down the walk again.
"False heart's-ease!" said my father.