All the while I knew better.
I knew that Margaret and Stephanie could put on a turban like
no white woman I ever saw. I knew that even Marie could take
the full effect of my dress when I was decked — as I was
sometimes — for a dinner party; and that no fall of lace or
knot of ribband missed its errand to her eye. I knew that a
_picture_ raised the liveliest interest in all my circle of
Sunday hearers; and that they were quick to understand and
keen to take its bearings, far more then Molly Skelton would
have been, more than Logan, our Scotch gardener at Melbourne,
or than my little old friend Hephzibah and her mother. But the
question stood, in what form could I carry beauty to them out
of a florist's shop? I was fain to take the florist into my
partial confidence. It was well that I did. He at once
suggested bulbs. Bulbs! would they require much care? Hardly
any; no trouble at all. They could be easily transported;
easily kept. All they wanted, was a little pot of earth when I
was ready to plant them; a little judicious watering; an
unbounded supply of sunshine.
Pages:
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193