THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 63 



" Some of these are very pretty," remarked Beauchamp ; 

 " but the idea of a new pattern lias struck me ; " and taking 

 out his pencil, he drew a small design, with two B's and two D's 

 opposite to each other, but joined, forming four beds ; the centre 

 turf to be occupied by a standard rose tree, and the four letters 

 as beds for violets, pansies, forget-me-nots, and heliotrope. 

 Handing it to Blanche, he was asking her opinion, when Mrs, 

 Gordon joined them. 



"What is it you have been figuring 1 " she asked. 



"Something quite new and emblematical," he replied ; " 

 and D stand for Blanche Douglas — now you must guess, of 

 what the flowers are emblematical. The rose tree ? " 



" Beauty, of course," replied Aunt Gordon. 



"Blue and white violets ; what do they represent ?" 



Blanche and her aunt guessed at once — modesty and cera- 

 dour. " And very appropriate too," remarked Mrs. Gordon, 



"Pansies?" 



The two ladies guessed in vain. 



"Think of me," said Beauchamp, which brought a blusli 

 into Blanche's cheek. " Forget-me-not follows as a matter of 

 course. The last bed is to be filled with heliotrope, the mean- 

 ing of which I shall leave you both to find out. So now, dear 

 aunt, if you approve the design, let us carry it out at once." 



" Approve it, William % I am quite delighted with it. This 

 flower-bed will be my pet, of all others, ever reminding me of 

 dear Blanche, when she may be separated from me, and of that 

 kind boy who suggested it, as a memorial emblematical or 

 her I love so tenderly. But now, dear William, tell me the 

 language of the heliotrope, that I may have my lesson complete." 



"I cannot indeed tell you, dear aunt, so you must really 

 your wits to work to find it out." 



"Will you then tell Blanche 1 " 



"I would rather not," he replied, "unless she is particularly 

 anxious to know." 



" That, I am sure, she is — are you not, my love 1 so 9 

 William what the heliotrope means." 



"Will you tell me, William?" she inquired, approaching 

 him. 



" Y"es, dear Blanche, but you only ; " and whispering in her 

 ear, he murmured, " The heliotrope, in the language of flowers, 

 is, / love you I " 



At these words the colour rose on Blanche's cheeks, mounting 

 to her very forehead, and her agitation became too perceptible. 



