Into this garden Sylvia wandered.

If she had met with but few people who matched the delicate company of her dreams, here, at all events, was a mansion where that company might have fitly gathered.

Great elms and beeches bent under their load of leaves to the lawn; about the lawn, flowers made a wealth of color, and away to the right of the house twisted stems and branches, where the green of the apples was turning to red, stood evenly spaced in a great orchard.

And the mill stream tunneling under the road and the wall ran swiftly between green banks through the garden and the orchard, singing as it ran.

There lingered, she thought, an ancient grace about this old garden, some flavor of forgotten days, as in a room scented with potpourri; and she walked the lawn in a great contentment.
The house within charmed her no less.