The flowers that covered it were delicate, and here and there small conical protuberances were let in among them.

She turned it round critically.

Waldo bent over it lovingly.
"There is one strange thing about it," he said earnestly, putting a finger on one little pyramid.

"I made it without these, and I felt something was wrong; I tried many changes, and at last I let these in, and then it was right.

But why was it?
They are not beautiful in themselves." "They relieve the monotony of the smooth leaves, I suppose." He shook his head as over a weighty matter.
"The sky is monotonous," he said, "when it is blue, and yet it is beautiful.