This world of Truth was indeed a world of easy ways!.

.

.

The garden was fragrant with perfumes; the perfume of full-blown roses--great pink and yellow and white blossoms, drooping in clusters from trees and bushes; of lavender from an ancient bed; of stocks--pink and purple; of sweetbriar, growing in a hedge beyond.

They walked aimlessly about along the gravel paths and across the deep greensward, and Burton knew no world, nor thought of any, save the world of that garden.