A delicate scarf, pale blue, of lightly netted worsted, fell from either shoulder down beside her hands.

The look that was bent upon her changed perforce to one of gentle admiration.

She seemed the goddess of the garden.
Olive glanced up.

Madame Delphine was not prepared for the movement, and on that account repeated her question: "What are you thinking about ?" The dreamer took the hand that was laid upon hers between her own palms, bowed her head, and gave them a soft kiss.
The mother submitted.

Wherefore, in the silence which followed, a daughter's conscience felt the burden of having withheld an answer, and Olive presently said, as the pair sat looking up into the sky: "I was thinking of Pere Jerome's sermon." Madame Delphine had feared so.