She had seen one of his pictures at the house of one of her friends a simple little thing, but it had charmed her.

It was merely a bouquet of English wild flowers; but then they were so naturally painted! The bluebells looked as though they had just been gathered.

One almost fancied dew drops on the delicate wild roses; a spray of pink hawthorn, daisies and golden buttercups mingled with woodbine and meadow-sweet, told sweet stories of the English meadows.
"Whoever painted that," said the fair countess, "loves flowers, and knows what English flowers mean." The countess did not rest until Ronald had been introduced to her, and then she would know his wife.

Her grave, silent husband smiled at her evident admiration of the handsome young Englishman.

She liked his clear, Saxon face and fair hair; she liked his simple, kindly manner, so full of chivalry and truth.