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get, because my list of irresistible ones grows each 

 year; and then the rose growers have been so gener- 

 ous in sending me unlabelled gift roses. It so hap- 

 pens now some of my loveliest roses' real names 

 are unknown to me; they've had to attain names as 

 best they might. For instance, that delicate pinky- 

 white climber with the great loose clusters, having 

 the odor of frankincense and myrrh, is known to us 

 as the " horse-bitten rose," but to you that name 

 would not be enlightening. 



And the men who label the roses — surely the per- 

 fume goes to their heads, for Kow often they mix the 

 labels! There was that Viscountess Folkestone I 

 ordered for the sake of " Elizabeth of the German 

 Garden." When it bloomed the flowers were of the 

 most tantalizing shades of orange, shell pink, gold 

 and flame — in short, compressed sunsets. 



Prizing her so highly I of course smothered her to 

 death with winter flannels and in my anxiety un- 

 dressed her first of all in the spring. She did look 

 rather haggard, still I hoped to love her back to 

 health, but by May she was a wizened mummy. I 

 immediately ordered another Viscountess Folkestone 

 in memory of the deceased. The new one grew, 

 thrived, and bloomed — bloomed a well-bred, insipid 



70 



