– Allow me. – Anthony carefully plucked the bud she had chosen and held it out to her cousin. She accepted it readily.

Their fingers touched, and Vivian, without knowing why, blushed.

"How sweet and modest she is," went through Anthony's mind.

– Thank you, Mr. Cranford," Vivian said quietly, and added a rose to her bouquet.

– I don't think I would be wrong in assuming that you like flowers," her cousin suddenly smiled broadly.

"So what of it?" – the girl thought unhappily, but said aloud: – How can one not love flowers? Is there anyone who is completely indifferent to these beautiful creatures?

– Alas, such people do exist. But, as you have seen, Greenhall is not indifferent to flowers. My mother planned the garden herself, and every flower grows exactly where she told it to.

– Your mother has excellent taste.

– You are like a flower yourself, my dear cousin. A bright, flaming flower," Anthony said earnestly, and was pleased to see his cousin's neck and face glow again.

Vivian could not find words: this handsome young man was so gallant! He must be extremely romantic, and London beauties simply fall at his feet.

– My dear cousin, your words are so sweet. But, please, beware of saying them in front of your mother: she may misinterpret them," said the girl, gravely: "I would not have my aunt think that she, Vivian, wished to take possession of her son's heart and soul!

– There is not a drop of romance in my mother's heart," Anthony reassured her with irony in his voice. – And, please, call me Anthony. After all, we are rather close relatives.

– Whatever you say, Anthony. – Vivian's face lit up with a broad, sincere smile: it turned out that her cousin was not so bad! Perhaps they could be friends?

– But now go inside: you've had enough time in the sun and you need to rest. Besides, lunch is coming up. Let me show you out. – Anthony gave her his elbow in a gallant manner.

– You're right: this heat is tiring me. – Vivian put her beautiful white palm on her cousin's shoulder, and the young people walked slowly, chatting animatedly, into the saving shade of Greenhall.

As soon as they entered the hall, they met the lady of the house herself: she had already changed into a new, but once again strict black dress, and was on her way to the kitchen to give orders in person, not through the housekeeper, to buy for tomorrow morning's tea-party chocolates of a new brand, which had appeared in the shops only yesterday. Lady Cranford did not eat chocolate and avoided sweets, wishing to keep her figure slim, but Anthony enjoyed two or three every day.

But her cheekbones sharpened as her gaze fell on Vivian walking with her son, and when she saw her niece's colourful bouquet, she addressed her in an icy, bone-chilling tone:

– 'I see you have put together a marvellous bouquet, Vivian. Especially beautiful are these pink gladioli, which I forbid even my favourite grandchildren to touch.

Aunt Beatrice looked like a formidable ice statue, and the look in her blue eyes burned her niece with coldness. The girl frantically clutched her bouquet and, lowering her gaze to the flowers, realised with horror what she had done: she had plucked her aunt's gladioluses. And not even one, but (what horror!) as many as three.

"But how could I have known they were forbidden? No one had said a word about it! Not even Anthony! And he saw my bouquet and those unfortunate gladioli! Oh, my God, why should I be punished like this? She was so angry about some flowers! Now she'll hate me!" – Vivian thought with horror.