The morning sun left this side of the house in shade. The birds were twittering in the ivy and stirring the heavy leaves as they flew out frightened at the noise of the opening window; the dew was sparkling on the grass, and the scent of the flowers was deliciously sweet.
“Looks pretty, doesn’t it?” said Mr. Rayner.
“Pretty! It looks and smells like Paradise! I mean—” I stopped and blushed, afraid that he would think the speech profane.
But he only laughed very pleasantly. I was smelling a rose while I tried to recover the staid demeanor I cultivated as most suitable to my profession. When I raised my eyes, he was looking at me and still laughing.
“You are fond of roses?”
“Yes, very, Mr. Rayner.”
I might own so much without any derogation from my dignity.
“But don’t you think it was very silly of Beauty to choose only a rose, when her father asked what he should bring her? I have always thought that ostentation of humility spoilt an otherwise amiable character.”
I laughed.
“Poor girl, think how hard her punishment was! I don’t think, if I had married the prince, I could ever have forgotten that he had been a beast, and I should have always been in fear of his changing back again.”