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Flowers and fruit, in exotic profusion, were its dominant note; quinces, pomegranates, passion- flowers, giant convolvulus, great mauve-pink roses, and grapes that were already being pressed by gleeful cupids in a riotous Arcadian vintage, stood out on its woven texture.
Two tears that had gathered in Miss Quincey's eyes now fell on the silk, deepening the mauve-pink to a hideous magenta. "I was deceived in the colour," she said as she turned from her tormentor. She toiled upstairs to the back bedroom and took it off. She could never wear it.
That did seem to be Miss Quincey's idea to carry it off; to brazen it out; to sit down and read Browning as if there was nothing at all remarkable in her personal appearance. "And to choose lilac of all things in the world! You never could stand that shade at the best of times. Lilac! Why, I declare if it isn't mauve-pink." "Mauve-pink!"
The blouse shivered as Miss Quincey trembled in nervous agitation; as she went red and yellow by turns it paled and flushed its painful pink. They were blushing for each other. For it was mauve-pink; she could see that well enough now. "Turn round!" Miss Quincey turned round. "Much too young for you! Why, bless me, if it doesn't throw up every bit of yellow in your face!
" Emile Lemoine, mauve-pink, suffused with white; very handsome. " La Tour d'Auvergne, mauve shaded with rose. A beautiful and very dark coloured form. " Lemoinei, nearly resembling our common species, but with full double flowers. " Leon Simon, light pink, mauve shaded. " Madame Lemoine, the finest form, bearing very large pure white double flowers. " Michael Buchner, rosy lilac.
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