"Who knows? Good many strange bits of furniture found their way over
here during those tremendous times. Beautiful place in the daytime;
eh?" Fitzgerald added, with an inclination toward The Pines.

"More like an Italian villa than an Englishman's home. Good gardeners,
I should say."

"Culture and money will make a bog attractive."

"Is the admiral cultured, then?"

"I should imagine so. But I am sure the daughter is. Not that veneer
which passes for it, but that deep inner culture, which gives a deft,
artistic touch to the hand, softens the voice, gives elegance to the
carriage, with a heart and mind nicely balanced. Judge for yourself,
when you see her. If there is any rare knickknack in the house, it
will have been put there by the mother's hand or the daughter's. The
admiral, I believe, occupies himself with his books, his butterflies,
and his cruises."

"A daughter. She is cultured, you say? Ah, if culture would only take
beauty in hand! But always she selects the plainer of two women."

Fitzgerald smiled inwardly. "I have told you she is not plain."

"Oh, beautiful," thoughtfully. "Culture and beauty; I shall be pleased
to observe."

"H'm! If there is any marrow in your bones, my friend, you'll show