Kennaston were silent and very
fidgetty.
Margaret was hatless--and the glory of the eminently sensible spring
sun appeared to centre in her hair--and violet-clad; and the gown,
like most of her gowns, was all tiny tucks and frills and flounces,
diapered with semi-transparencies--unsubstantial, foam-like, mere
violet froth. As she came starry-eyed through the gardens, the
impudent wind trifling with her hair, I protest she might have been
some lady of Oberon's court stolen out of Elfland to bedevil us poor
mortals, with only a moonbeam for the changeable heart of her, and
for raiment a violet shadow spirited from the under side of some big,
fleecy cloud.
They came presently through a trim, yew-hedged walkway to a
summer-house covered with vines, into which Margaret peeped and
declined to enter, on the ground that it was entirely too chilly
and gloomy and _exactly_ like a mausoleum; but nearby they found a
semi-circular marble bench about which a group of elm-trees made a
pleasant shadow splashed at just the proper intervals with sunlight.
On this Margaret seated herself; and then pensively moved to the other
end of the bench, because a slanting sunbeam fell there.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153