CHAPTER XX


"Of course," Priscilla leaned back in her deep-cushioned chair and
laughed from sheer delight, "I was a better girl in my former life
than I ever had any idea of, or I wouldn't have been given this----"

She and Margaret Moffatt were sitting on the piazza of a little Swiss
inn. Below them lay a tiny lake as blue and as clear as a rare gem; round
about them towered snowy peaks, protectingly. All that was past--was
past! There did not seem to be any future; the present was sufficient.

"I think you must have been rather a good child, back there," Margaret
Moffatt said, looking steadfastly at the girl near her; "and, anyway, you
ought to have a rich reward for your hair if for no other reason."

"A recompense, you mean?"

"Heavens! no! I was thinking, as I often do when I see the lights in your
hair, that for making people so cheerful and contented nothing is too
good for you. I'm extremely fond of you, Priscilla Glynn! It's only when
you put on your cap and apron manner that I recall--unpleasant things.
Just tuck them out of sight and let us forget everything but--this!
Isn't it divine?"

"It's--yes, it is divine, Miss Moffatt."