"You should see the moors!" cried Sir Redmond, brightening under this
peaceful mood of hers. "I fancy you would not find trouble in drawing
long breaths there. Moor Cottage, where your sister and Wiltmar lived,
is surrounded by wide stretches of open--not like this, to be sure, but
not half-bad in its way, either."

"Dolly grew to love that place, though she did write homesick letters at
first. I was going over, after my coming out--and then came that awful
accident, when she and Wiltmar were both drowned--and, of course, there
was nothing to go for. I should have hated the place then, I think. But
I should like--" Her voice trailed off dreamily, her eyes on the hazy
Highwoods.

Sir Redmond watched her, his eyes a-shine; Beatrice in this mood was
something to worship. He was almost afraid to speak, for fear she would
snuff out the tiny flame of hope which her half-finished sentence had
kindled. He leaned forward, his face eager.

"Beatrice, only say you will go--with me, dear!"

Beatrice started; for the moment she had forgotten him. Her eyes kept to
the hills. "Go--to England? One trip at a time, Sir Redmond. I have been
here only ten days, and we came for three months. Three months of
freedom in this big, glorious place."

"And then?" His voice was husky.

"And then--freckle lotions by the quart, I expect."

Sir Redmond got upon his feet, and he was rather white around the