"'Gather ye roses while ye may!'—you are most kind. I will take this one now, if I may," replied Miss Dysart, bending above a great white Lyonnaise.
And now as he unpacked it ... he was well content.—[Page 277].
"Just the rose I should expect you to choose," said the Professor, cutting it for her.
"Pray, why?" inquired Miss Dysart a little sharply.
"It is such a calm, vigorous, upright rose—a kind of apotheosis of our own New England roses. A well-bred rose; it does not straggle, nor shed its petals untidily. It would not look out of place in Boston;—and it has not too much color."
"You prefer these, I suppose," remarked the girl, coolly, glancing at his hand. The Professor looked down guiltily.
"I have been gleaming after you ladies. This is your Mermet."
"Thank you!" replied Miss Dysart dryly replacing the pink bud in her belt.