It had originally been a twig
worn in Stephen Smith's button-hole, and he had taken it thence,
stuck it into the pot, and told her that if it grew, she was to
take care of it, and keep it in remembrance of him when he was far
away.
She looked wistfully at the plant, and a sense of fairness to
Smith's memory caused her a pang of regret that Knight should have
asked for that very one. It seemed exceeding a common
heartlessness to let it go.
'Is there not anything you like better?' she said sadly. 'That is
only an ordinary myrtle.'
'No: I am fond of myrtle.' Seeing that she did not take kindly to
the idea, he said again, 'Why do you object to my having that?'
'Oh no--I don't object precisely--it was a feeling.--Ah, here's
another cutting lately struck, and just as small--of a better
kind, and with prettier leaves--myrtus microphylla.'
'That will do nicely. Let it be put in my room, that I may not
forget it. What romance attaches to the other?'
'It was a gift to me.'
The subject then dropped. Knight thought no more of the matter
till, on entering his bedroom in the evening, he found the second
myrtle placed upon his dressing-table as he had directed. He
stood for a moment admiring the fresh appearance of the leaves by
candlelight, and then he thought of the transaction of the day.
Male lovers as well as female can be spoilt by too much kindness,
and Elfride's uniform submissiveness had given Knight a rather
exacting manner at crises, attached to her as he was.
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