One day it's flowers--but the next day it is pudding--and the next frocks." Her eye was sparkling, her tongue loosened.

Not only was it pleasant to feel herself beside him, enwrapped in such an atmosphere of admiration and deference, but the artistic sensitive chord in her had been struck, and vibrated happily.
"Well, only wait till May, and the cowslips in your own fields will make up to you!" he said, smiling at her.

"But now, I have been wondering to myself in my room upstairs what you would like to see.

There are a good many treasures in this house, and you will care for them, because you are an artist.

But you shall not be bored with them! You shall see what and as much as you like.