It was enveloped in roseate lace drapery, caught up at the centre in festoons on the silver arrow of a pretty little Cupid.

From silver arrows over the windows there fell the same soft, roseate folds.

Her whole face was illuminated with happiness as she thought to herself: "Ah! I know why everything has a tinge of _roses_.

How kind of him to prepare such a beautiful surprise for me!" She traversed the garden walks, and lingered long in the sequestered bower.

On the floor was a bunch of dried violets which he had placed in her belt on that happy day.