Ox-eye daisies, hollyhocks and forget-me-nots
clustered about the open windows. And every puff of wind, every breath
of air transmitted scent--the most delicious medley of scent
imaginable.
The young man drew in deep draughts of it; he threw back his head,
and, opening his mouth, revelled in the joy of feeling it steal softly
down his throat and permeate his lungs. He was thus engaged when the
sound of a voice brought him sharply back to earth.
In the open doorway of the house, an amused expression in her violet
eyes, stood a girl--so wondrously pretty, that at the sight of her
Shiel was again overcome, and could only gaze in helpless admiration.
"Do you want to see my father?" she inquired. "He is getting ready to
go out, but I daresay he will see you first."
"I--I am sure he will," the young man replied, "I'm Shiel Davenport.
I've come to tell him my uncle died at four o'clock this morning."
"Oh, dear!" the girl exclaimed, "I am so sorry--sorry for you, and for
my father. I'm sure he will be terribly upset. I'm Gladys Martin,
perhaps you've heard of me--I knew your uncle."
"Often," Shiel said, "And I think my uncle's description of you an
excellent one."
"His description of me!"
"Yes! he always spoke of you as the Queen of Flowers, and said you had
a mania for all things beautiful, which was not surprising, seeing how
beautiful you were yourself."
"That was very nice of him," Gladys said, looking amused again.
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