On that day, being admitted by way of the Harley front door, Richard had the felicity of coming in with the before-mentioned daily sheaf of roses.

Richard and the blossom-bearing colored youth entered together, the door making the one opening to admit both; and by this fortunate chance--which Richard the wily had waited around the corner to secure--he was given the joy of seeing and hearing the beautiful Dorothy gurgle over the flowers.
"And to think," cried Dorothy, her nose in the bosom of a rose, "no one knows from whom they come! Mamma thinks Count Storri sends them.

It's so good of him, if he does!" Dorothy's head was bowed over the flowers.

As she spoke, however, her blue eye, full of mischief, watched Richard through a silken lock of hair that had fallen forward.
"But you don't think it's Storri ?" cried Richard dolorously.
"Oh, no!" returned Dorothy, shaking her head with wise decision, "I don't think it's Count Storri.

But of course I wouldn't tell mamma so; she doesn't like to be contradicted.