Her only ornament was a pin of jade, in an
Oriental setting. Allison looked at her admiringly.
"There's something about you," he said, "that I don't know just how to
express. I have no words for it, but, in some way, you seem to live up
to your name."
"How so?" Rose asked, demurely.
"Well, I've never seen you wear anything that a rose might not wear.
I've seen you in red and green and yellow and pink and white, but never
in blue or purple, or any of those soft-coloured things that Aunt
Francesca wears."
"That only means," answered Rose, flushing, "that blue and grey and tan
and lavender aren't becoming to me."
"That isn't it," Allison insisted, "for you'd be lovely in anything.
You're living up to your name."
"Go on," Rose suggested mischievously. "This is getting interesting."
"You needn't laugh. I assure you that men know more about those things
than they're usually given credit for. Your jewels fit in with the whole
idea, too. That jade pin, for instance, and your tourmaline necklace,
and your ruby ring, and the topazes you wear with yellow, and the faint
scent of roses that always hangs about you.
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