She was a charming little brunette, with laughter always lurking in ambush within her sparkling black eyes, a mouth like "Cupid's bow carved in coral," and dimples in her cheeks, that well deserved their French name, _berceaux d'amour_.
These radiant visions of beauty took Alfred King so much by surprise, that he was for a moment confused.

But he soon recovered self-possession, and, after the usual salutations, took a seat offered him near a window overlooking the garden.

While the commonplaces of conversation were interchanged, he could not but notice the floral appearance of the room.

The ample white lace curtains were surmounted by festoons of artificial roses, caught up by a bird of paradise.

On the ceiling was an exquisitely painted garland, from the centre of which hung a tasteful basket of natural flowers, with delicate vine-tresses drooping over its edge.