only miss two out of them. These carrots, how their leaves are turned--that ought not to be.'
Honora could not believe that anything ought not to be that was as beautiful as the varied rosy tints of the hectic beauty of the exquisitely shaped and delicately pinked foliage of the field carrots, and with her cousin's assistance she soon had a large bouquet where no two leaves were alike, their hues ranging from the deepest purple or crimson to the palest yellow, or clear scarlet, like seaweed, through every intermediate variety of purple edged with green, green picked out with red or yellow, or vice versa, in never-ending brilliancy, such as Humfrey almost seemed to appreciate, as he said, 'Well, you have something as pretty as your weeds, eh, Honor?'
'I can't quite give up mourning for my dear long purples.'
'All very well by the river, but there's no beauty in things out of place, like your Louis in Egypt--well, what was the end of this predicament?'
So Humfrey had really