conservatory, which was a plain, lamentable bay-window once upon a time.
I determined to make a little flower-box of it, and had the floor of it
paved with large tiles, and between the hardwood floor of the
drawing-room and the marble of the window space was a narrow curb of
marble, which made it possible to have a jolly little fountain in the
window. The fountain splashed away to its heart's content, for there was
a drain pipe under the curb. At the top of the windows there were
shallow white boxes filled with trailing ivy that hung down and screened
the glass, making the window as delightful to the passer-by without as
to us within. There were several pots of rose-colored flowers standing
in a prim row on the marble curb.

You see how much simpler it is to make the best of an old bay window
than to build on a new conservatory. There are thousands of houses with
windows like this one of ours, an unfortunate space of which no use is
made. Sometimes there is a gilt table bearing a lofty jar, sometimes a
timid effort at comfort--a sofa--but usually the bay window is sacred to
its own devices, whatever they may be! Why not spend a few dollars and
make it the most interesting part of the room by giving it a lot of
vines and flowers and a small fountain? It isn't at all an expensive
thing to do.

From the drawing-room you entered the dining-room. This was a long room
with beautifully spaced walls, a high ceiling, and quaint cupboards. The
arrangement of the mirrors around the cupboards and doors was unusual
and most decorative. This room was so beautiful in itself that I used
very little color--but _such_ color! We never tired of the gray and
white and ivory color-scheme, the quiet atmosphere that made glorious
the old Chinese carpet, with its rose-colored ground and blue-and-gold
medallions and border. The large India-ink sketches set in the walls are