"Mother always forgets whom she has asked down for the week-end," she
said, "and my uncle is far too sweet about it. I know that he wanted to
have as much time as possible alone with you before Monday. It is on
Monday you go to Manchester, isn't it?"

"On Monday," he answered, a little absently. "I have to make my bow to
the democracy of your country in the evening."

"I wish I could make up my mind, Mr. Maraton," she continued, "whether
you have come over here for good or for evil."

"For evil that good may come of it, I am afraid," he rejoined, "would be
the kindest interpretation you could put upon my enterprise here."

"The Spectator calls you the Missionary of Unrest."

"The Spectator, I am afraid, will become more violent later on."

"Let us sit down here for a moment," she suggested, pointing to a seat.
"You see, we are just at the top of this long pathway, and we get a view
of the roses all the way down."

"It is very beautiful," he admitted,--"far too beautiful."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Too beautiful? Is that possible?"

"Without a doubt," he declared. "Too much beauty is as bad as too