The melancholy waning sunshine of autumn rested on the half-strown grass and came mildly through the windows in slanting bands of brightness over the old furniture, and the glass panel that reflected the furniture; over the tapestried chairs with their faded flower-wreaths, the dark enigmatic pictures, the superannuated organ at which Gwendolen had pleased herself with acting Saint Cecelia on her first joyous arrival, the crowd of pallid, dusty knickknacks seen through the open doors of the antechamber where she had achieved the wearing of her Greek dress as Hermione. 
The melancholy waning sunshine of autumn came mildly through the windows in slanting bands of brightness over the old furniture, the organ at which Gwendolen had acted Saint Cecilia, the antechamber where she worn her Greek dress as Hermione. 