I am told that the present race of flower-birds themselves are a sort of indirect creation of art.

They certainly vary in size, shape, and colour according to the flower each exclusively frequents; and those which haunt the cultivated bells of the _leveloo_ present an amazing contrast to the far tinier and far less beautiful _caree_ which have not yet abandoned the wildflowers for those of the garden.

Above two hundred varieties distinguished by ornithologists frequent only the domesticated flowers.
The flight of this swarm of various beauty recalled the conversation of last night; and breaking off unobserved a long fine tendril of the leveloo, I said lightly-- "Flower-birds are not so well-trained as _esvee_, bambina." Never forgetting a word of mine, and never failing to catch with quick intelligence the sense of the most epigrammatic or delicate metaphor, Eveena started and looked up, as if stung by a serious reproach.
Fancying that overpowering fatigue had so shaken her nerves, I would not allow her to speak.

But I did not understand how much she had been distressed, till in her own chamber, cloak and veil thrown aside, she stood beside my seat, her sleeveless arms folded behind her, drooping like a lily beaten down by a thunderstorm.

Then she murmured sadly-- "I did not think of offending.