Ugly Mary was evidently in love with the unattractive Diogenes; but Camelia need not know that. Mrs. Fox-Darriel almost laughed at herself while she meditated; Camelia could hardly intend more than the purposeless capturing of Diogenes; Camelia's head was perfectly sound when it came to decisive extremes. Only--well--women, all women, were such _fools_ sometimes. That bounding, pursuing step across the lawn had given Mrs. Fox-Darriel a new impression of Camelia.
"Look, Mamma, is not this beautiful? Look, Frances." Camelia held out a branch of white roses, buds and leaves climbing on lovely curves to a heavy, swaying flower;--"it is such a perfect spray that I am going to attempt a Japanese arrangement with this bit of pine. Mary, will you fetch me that bronze vase out of the morning room--with its little stand, you know--and have it filled with water; and, Mary,--" Mary was departing obediently, "a pair of scissors--don't forget. If there is anything I dislike," Camelia went on, hers was always a temperate manner of speech, "it is a heavy mass of flowers bunched together with all the individuality, all the form and vitality, of line quite lost."
She smiled at Mrs. Jedsley as she spoke, skimming caressing finger-tips over her rose branch, and adding, "You may see me at your place to-morrow, Mrs. Jedsley. Mr. Perior has been giving me a dreadful scolding on my neighborly deficiencies. To-morrow I make a conscientious round of calls--and pour balm into all the wounded bosoms." Mrs. Fox-Darriel glanced quickly at Perior to see how he relished this offensive obedience; Perior, as he stood before the fireplace, was looking at his boots. Mrs. Jedsley's eyebrows grew very red.
"I won't be at home to-morrow," she said decidedly, "and if I were conscious of wounds I'd keep at a good distance from you, Camelia." Lady Paton looked from her daughter to Perior, an alarmed appeal, but he did not raise his eyes nor seem to notice Camelia's graceful promises.
"Mrs. Jedsley, _why_ are you always so unkind to me?" Camelia asked, laughing. "I assure you that you may trust my balms. Mrs. Jedsley, I will wager you--do you ever bet?--that by to-morrow night the whole county-side will be singing my praises. I like people to sing my praises--I like to feel affection and sympathy about me; now Mr. Perior has been telling me that there is a distinct absence of these elements in my atmosphere. I begin to feel the vacuum myself. Won't you help me to fill it--help my regeneration?--No, Mary, that is the wrong vase--how could I arrange flowers in that? On the stand, was it? The house-maid's stupidity, then; and I bought together the stand and the proper vase to go with it. No; don't take the _stand_ back with you, you goosie! put it here. Now, Mrs. Jedsley," she added, when Mary had once more departed, Perior having relieved her of the stand and carried it, not at all graciously, to Camelia, "tell me how I can best please every one most? You know them all so well--their pet pursuits, their pet hobbies. Mrs. Harley has orchids, of course; I shall immediately ask her to take me to the conservatory. And Mrs. Grier--that pensive little woman with the long, long nose--has she not a son at Oxford, a boy she dotes on? Isn't she very fond of music?"