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A fantasy perhaps of some Norse goddess or Flame Deity; a wild, weird head, painted in reds and whites, with wonderful shaded locks, and small white face aglow with the fire within. His lips twisted in an involuntary smile. Could anything be more aggressively unlike "the sweet m-o-oss rose" of which she had spoken?
"The m-o-oss makes a nice, soft wadding all round, to keep the little buds safe and hidden. We use it quite a good deal at home for packing curios. Dried moss! It's apt to get a bit stale with keeping, don't you think?" "No doubt; but even so it retains some of its fragrance.
"Our standards differ, however. `Snap' may be a useful commodity in the business world, but one resents its intrusion into private life. The very name is objectionable in connection with a girl like Miss Ramsden with any English girl!" Cornelia curled her red lips. "Yes, they flop; and you like 'em floppy! Kind of ivy round a stalwart oak, or a sweet, wayside rose. A m-o-oss rose!"
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