some such country. Here you are in the open air, with your own little
world around you, and nobody to see you; you might live all your life
here, and know nothing about the storm crossing the Atlantic, and the
wars in Europe, if only you gave up the newspapers."

"Yes, it is very pretty and quiet," said she, and the small fingers
pulled to pieces one of the rose leaves that Carry had thrown at her.
"But you know one is never satisfied anywhere. If I were to tell you the
longing I have to see the very places you describe as being so
desolate--But perhaps papa will take me there some day."

"I hope so," said he; "but I would not call them desolate. They are
terrible at times, and they are lonely, and they make you think. But
they are beautiful too, with a sort of splendid beauty and grandeur that
goes very near making you miserable.... I cannot describe it. You will
see for yourself."

Here a bell rang, and at the same moment Mr. White made his appearance.

"How do you do, Sir Keith? Luncheon is ready, my dear--luncheon is
ready--luncheon is ready."

He kept muttering to himself as he led the way. They entered a small
dining-room, and here, if Macleod had ever heard of actresses having
little time to give to domestic affairs, he must have been struck by the
exceeding neatness and brightness of everything on the table and around
it. The snow-white cover; the brilliant glass and spoons; the carefully
arranged, if tiny, bouquets; and the precision with which the smart
little maiden-servant, the only attendant, waited--all these things
showed a household well managed. Nay, this iced claret-cup--was it not