A Whirl Asunder by Gertrude Atherton

He did not see her alone again for two days, although he was with her constantly, and they had long talks apart. There were seven clever men at Casa Norte this time; all of the women were bright, or more, and the days and nights were very gay. They rode and drove and sailed and picnicked, and sang and played tennis and told stories, and there was much good conversation. Clive wrote a brief note daily to Mary Gordon, but gave up his thoughts recklessly to Helena Belmont. She showed to full advantage as hostess: thoughtful, suggestive, womanly, unselfish. Her mind, as revealed in their long conversations, captivated him. Her grace appealed more keenly to his senses than her beauty, which sometimes, as she talked, wholly disappeared, broken by a personality so strong and so variable as to play havoc with its harmonies.

On the third morning he met her in the pink-and-green wilderness of the rose-garden. The dew glittered on every leaf and petal, for the sun was hardly over the mountain. The guests had been ordered early to bed the night before, that they might rise early and go on a picnic in a distant part of the forest. Rollins was buttoning his shirt before an open window and singing a duet with Mrs. Tower, who had her head out of another window. Helena wore a pink-and-white organdie frock and a large hat lined with pink. She was gathering a cluster of roses for her belt. As Clive joined her she plucked a bud and pinned it on his cheviot shirt: he wore no coat; the men only dressed for dinner.