"Don't go yet," pleaded Nell and Harry, as I turned to leave.
"You'll admire the 'rosery' more than this," said the gardener, opening another door, and standing aside.
A marvellous fragrance saluted us as we looked down the long ranks of tall nyphetos shrubs laden with hundreds of silken buds and opening blossoms, in every shade from lemon to purest white.
How dainty!—how exquisite! Here and there a full-blown rose showed its closely folded centre, and long slender petals so delicately hung that a breath might scatter them.
Along the walls were trained vine-like Marshal Neils, with great golden buds and blossoms, while below rows of Safranos lifted fragrant cups rivalling in tint the bloom of an apricot's cheek.
In a second "rosery" we were fairly smothered in sweets. Scores of pale pink Hermanos, blushing Bon Silenes, and Plantiers—living balls of snow—and white Lamarques mingled their spicy breaths in one soft cloud of incense. Pink and white, ruby, buff, and golden, they hung and nodded on every stem, till, like Aladdin in the magician's garden, we knew not which way to turn.
As for the "carnation houses," they made us think of spice islands floating on seas of green; the "pansy houses" were beds of gold and amethyst; the "violet houses" and "smilax greeneries," perfect visions of spring.
There were, besides, ferns, lilies-of-the-valley, camellias on tall tree-like shrubs that made quite a respectable forest in a house by themselves, and rows upon rows of dainty pink, crimson, and white primroses.
Like a true artist, the florist had reserved his most wonderful picture for the last. As he opened the door of an Easter bulb house, he said, "What do you think of that?"
With a cry of delight, as the glory of colors burst upon her, Nell stood entranced in the doorway. Down the middle of the house hundreds and hundreds of potted tulips flamed and glowed with vivid dyes.