nds.

It was all very pretty and pleasant, but he had seen the same before,
and was rather tired of it. The day was more Italian than English,
bright and sunny, the sky blue, the air clear and filled with
fragrance, the birds singing as they do sing under bright, warm skies.

Flags were flying from numerous tents, bands of music were stationed in
different parts of the grounds, the fountains played merrily in the
sunlit air. Lord Airlie walked mechanically on, bowing in reply to the
salutations he received.

A pretty little bower, a perfect thicket of roses, caught his
attention. From it one could see all over the lake, with its gay
pleasure boats. Lord Airlie sat down, believing himself to be quite
alone; but before he had removed a large bough that interfered with the
full perfection of the view he heard voices on the other side of the
thick, sheltering rose bower.

He listened involuntarily, for one of the voices was clear and pure,
the other more richly musical than any he had ever heard at times sweet
as the murmur of the cushat dove, and again ringing joyously and
brightly.

"I hope we shall not have to wait here long, Lillian," the blithe voice
was saying. "Lady Helena promised to take us on the lake."

"It is very pleasant," was the reply; "but you always like to be in the
very center of gayety."

"Yes," said Beatrice; "I have had enough solitude and quiet to last me
for life. Ah, Lillian, this is all delightful. You think so, but do
not admit it honestly as I do."

There was a faint, musical laugh, and then the sweet voice resumed:

"I am charmed, Lillian, with this London life; this is worth calling
life--every moment is a golden one. If there is a drawback, it
consists in not being able to speak one's mind."

"What do you mean?" asked Lillian.

"Do you not understand?" was the reply. "Lady Helena is always talking
to me about cultivating what she calls 'elegant repose.' Poor, dear
grandmamma! Her perfect idea of good manners seems to me to be a
simple absence--in society, at least--of all emotion and all feeling.
I, for one, do not admire the nil admirari system."

"I am sure Lady Helena admires you, Bee," said her sister.

"Yes," was the careless reply. "Only imagine, Lillian, yesterday, when
Lady Cairn told me some story about a favorite young friend of hers the
tears came to my eyes. I could not help it, although the drawing room
was full. Lady Helena told me I should repress a