`` This house was builded and consecrated by love , '' said Owen . `` Such houses , MUST exert an influence over those who live in them . And this garden -- it is over sixty years old and the history of a thousand hopes and joys is written in its blossoms . Some of those flowers were actually set out by the schoolmaster 's bride , and she has been dead for thirty years . Yet they bloom on every summer . Look at those red roses , Leslie -- how they queen it over everything else ! '' `` I love the red roses , '' said Leslie . `` Anne likes the pink ones best , and Gilbert likes the white . But I want the crimson ones . They satisfy some craving in me as no other flower does . '' `` These roses are very late -- they bloom after all the others have gone -- and they hold all the warmth and soul of the summer come to fruition , '' said Owen , plucking some of the glowing , half-opened buds . `` The rose is the flower of love -- the world has acclaimed it so for centuries . The pink roses are love hopeful and expectant -- the white roses are love dead or forsaken -- but the red roses -- ah , Leslie , what are the red roses ? '' `` Love triumphant , '' said Leslie in a low voice . `` Yes -- love triumphant and perfect . Leslie , you know -- you understand . I have loved you from the first . And I KNOW you love me -- I do n't need to ask you . But I want to hear you say it -- my darling -- my darling ! '' Leslie said something in a very low and tremulous voice .
Their hands and lips met ; it was life 's supreme moment for them and as they stood there in the old garden , with its many years XXXXX love and delight and sorrow and glory , he crowned her shining hair with the red , red rose of a love triumphant .
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