The Lady: "No; Jacks are too old-fashioned. But haven't you got any other very dark rose? I should like something almost black, I believe."
The Florist, setting a vase of roses on the counter before her: "There is the Matame Hoste."
The Lady, bending over the roses, and touching one of them with the tip of her gloved finger: "Why, they are black, almost! They are nearly as black as black pansies. They are really wonderful!" She stoops over and inhales their fragrance. "Delicious! They are beautiful, but"—abruptly—"they are hideous. Their color makes me creep. It is so unnatural for a rose. A rose—a rose ought to be—rose-colored! Have you no rose-colored roses? What are those light pink ones there in the window?"
The Florist, going to the window and getting two vases of cut roses, with long stems, both pink, but one kind a little larger than the other: "That is the Matame Watterville, and this is the Matame Cousine. They are sister rhoces; both the same, but the Matame Watterville is a little bigger, and it is a little dtearer."
The Lady: "They are both exquisite, and they are such a tender almond-bloom pink! I think the Madame Cousine is quite as nice; but of course the larger ones are more effective." She examines them, turning her head from side to side, and then withdrawing a step, with a decisive sigh. "No; they are too pale. Have you nothing of a brighter pink? What is that over there?" She points to a vase of roses quite at the front of the window, and the florist climbs over the mass of plants and gets it for her.
The Florist: "That is the Midio."
The Lady: "The what?"
The Florist: "The Midio."
The Lady: "You will think I am very stupid this morning. Won't you please write it down for me?" The florist writes on a sheet of wrapping-paper, and she leans over and reads: "Oh! Meteor! Well, it is very striking—a little too striking. I don't like such a vivid pink, and I don't like the name. Horrid to give such a name to a flower." She puts both hands into her muff, and drifts a little way off, as if to get him in a better perspective. "Can't you suggest something, Mr. Eichenlaub?"
The Florist: "Some kind off yellow rhoce? Dtea-rhoces?"