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           Giganticpansies,considerablylargerthantheroses,andcloselyresemblingthefloralpen-wipersmadebyfemaleparishionersforfashionableclergymen,sprangfromthemossbeneaththerose-trees;andhereandthereadaisygraftedonarose-branchfloweredwithaluxuriancepropheticofMr.LutherBurbank’sfar-offprodigies.InthecentreofthisenchantedgardenMadameNilsson,inwhitecashmereslashedwithpalebluesatin,areticuledanglingfromabluegirdle,andlargeyellowbraidscarefullydisposedoneachsideofhermuslinchemisette,listenedwithdowncasteyestoM.Capoul’simpassionedwooing,andaffectedaguilelessincomprehensionofhisdesignswhenever,bywordorglance,hepersuasivelyindicatedthegroundfloorwindowoftheneatbrickvillaprojectingobliquelyfromtherightwing."Thedarling!"thoughtNewlandArcher,hisglanceflittingbacktotheyounggirlwiththelilies-of-the-valley."Shedoesn’tevenguesswhatit’sallabout."Andhecontemplatedherabsorbedyoungfacewithathrillofpossessorshipinwhichprideinhisownmasculineinitiationwasmingledwithatenderreverenceforherabysmalpurity."We’llreadFausttogether...bytheItalianlakes..."hethought,somewhathazilyconfusingthesceneofhisprojectedhoney-moonwiththemasterpiecesofliteraturewhichitwouldbehismanlyprivilegetorevealtohisbride.