The house
seems as if a funeral had left it. Poor Evelyn."
"You naughty Madge, where are you?"
The speaker was Jennie Montgomery. She had been busy over the
arrangement of a number of bouquets for the dinner-table, and
assisting Mrs. Verne in many ways, and now made a hasty transit
towards Madge's favorite retreat--a pretty boudoir adjoining her
mamma's dressing-room.
"Just as auntie said, you old offender. A pretty time for day-dreams
when everybody is head over ears in business."
"I have not been here an hour, Jennie," said Madge, in an apologetic
manner, putting her arms caressingly around her cousin's waist.
The latter, though apparently preoccupied, could not fail to admire
this quaint and pretty nook--just such a spot as one could sit in
and dream their life away; a sort of lotus bed, where one inhaled
the beguiling odors, and cast all worldly cares to the shores left
behind.
And little wonder cousin Jennie gazed in admiration.
The walls were of the most delicate rose color, tinged with gold;
the carpet, a ground of white velvet pile bestrewed with delicate
roses; the furniture of delicate pink satin, with setting of
quaintly carved ebony.
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