I'll read you the rest when we get home." "That will be lovely," said Jane, to whom the faculty of rhyming was a never-ceasing wonder.

She would sit bemused by the jingling lines and wrapt in awe at the minstrel.
They sat on a bench by the flower-beds, gay in their spring charm of belated crocus and hyacinth and daffodil, with here and there a precocious tulip.

Paul, sensitive to beauty, discoursed on flowers.

Max Field had a studio in St.John's Wood opening out into a garden, which last summer was a dream of delight.

He described it.