"Jubemus vos salvere," while "O, faustum et felicem hunc diem!" was tacked above the piano in the music-room.
"To polish! to polish!" reiterated Jessie, stroking her gloved left hand with her right, and looking so roguishly beautiful that Orrin had no difficulty in throwing an expression of intense admiration into his gaze.
"Stand off, and let me look at you!" said he, brusquely for him, drawing back for a better view.
She was well worth it. Her maize-colored tissue had a full double skirt, the upper looped with rosettes of black lace with jet centres. A bunch of purple fuchsias drooped above her left temple; not a jewel was visible except her betrothal ring, and her only laces were those edging her neck and sleeves. But she was dazzling enough to turn stronger heads than those of the sheepish sophomores, pert juniors, and priggish seniors who would compose her train that night, thought Orrin, surveying her with the leisurely freedom of a brotherly friend, as her eyes sparkled into splendor, her bloom deepened, and the white-gloved fingers toyed mechanically with her bouquet under his inspection. As the finale, he offered his arm, with a sweeping obeisance, and they strolled through the long suite of rooms, untenanted as yet save by themselves.
"I hardly expected to see that to-night," said Orrin, touching her bouquet. "The utmost I hoped was that it might please your eye for a moment, as it passed in review among a host of others."
"There is a degree of modesty which is laughable," she returned. "Pray, whose flowers did you suppose I would prefer to yours?"
"Perhaps I feared the rivalry of the neat assortment of mignonette and white tea-rosebuds I saw left at Professor Fairchild's door this morning."
"Eminently suitable to my 'style!'" interrupted she, ironically. "The fear reflects credit upon your discrimination—and my taste!"
"Or," he went on, "the astounding array of camellias, azaleas, and orange blossoms that arrived last night, duly enveloped in wet cotton, sent per express from the greenhouse of a noted city florist to the millionaire's son—Senior Lowndes. Rumor says he has neither studied nor eaten since he was first pierced by Cupid's arrows—your eyelids doing service as bows, and the sight of the magnificent offering which is to propitiate the blind god through you, has driven him clean daft. Seriously and frankly, my advice is that you discard my simple gift in favor of the exotics. I am content—or should be—with the grace already showed me. But Mr. Lowndes may be offended if you do not exhibit his Brobdingnagian bouquet. It is already the talk of the place, and everybody expects to see it in your hands to-night!"
"It is not everybody's maiden disappointment," said Jessie, obstinately. "The floral behemoth has a big glass bowl and a table all to himself in the music-room, so Mr. Lowndes can play showman to his heart's satisfaction. I reserve the right of wearing what I please, and my bouquet is a part of my toilette. Could anything harmonize better with my dress than these scarlet verbenas, divided from the purple violets by the circlet of white feathery blossoms, and capped by one snowy Cape jessamine, like a queen in her ermine?"
"The last is the only member of your family to be had in this frozen region," rejoined Orrin. "I telegraphed to Baltimore in the vain hope of obtaining the golden bells you love so dearly."
"Did you? They do not bloom at this season in any climate, I imagine. But your attempt to procure them was an evidence of thoughtful kindness be-
