that one does _not_ love the
multitude!--No seaside, then. Lakes--no; Wales--no; Highlands--no.
Isn't there some part of England one would like if one discovered it?"

"Do you want solitude?" asked Piers, becoming more interested.

"Solitude? H'm!" She handed a box of cigarettes, and herself took one.
"Yes, solitude. I shall try to get Miss Derwent to come for a time. New
Forest--no, Please, please, do suggest! I'm nervous; your silence
teases me."

"Do you know the Yorkshire dales?" asked Otway, watching her as she
watched a nice little ring of white smoke from the end of her cigarette.

"No! That's an idea. It's your own country, isn't it?"

"But--how do you know that?"

"Dreamt it."

"I wasn't born there, but lived there as a child, and later a little.
You might do worse than the dales, if you like that kind of country.
Wensleydale, for instance. There's an old Castle, and a very
interesting one, part of it habitable, where you can get quarters."

"A Castle? Superb!"

"Where Queen Mary was imprisoned for a time, till she made an
escape----"

"Magnificent! Can I have the whole Castle to myself?"

"The furnished part of it, unless someone else has got it already for
this summer. There's a family, the caretakers, always in possession--if
things are still as they used to be."

"Write for me at once, will you? Write immediately! There is paper on
the desk."

Piers obeyed. Whilst he sat penning the letter, Mrs. Borisoff lighted a
second cigarette, her face touched with a roguish smile. She studied
Otway's profile for a moment; became grave; fell into a mood of
abstraction, which shadowed her features with weariness and melancholy.
Turning suddenly to put a question, Piers saw the change in her look,
and was so surprised that he forgot what he was going to say.

"Finished?" she asked, moving nervously in her chair.

When the letter was written, Mrs. Borisoff resumed talk in the same
tone as before.

"You have heard of Dr. Derwent's discoveries about diphtheria?-- That's
the kind of thing one envies, don't you think? After all, what can we
poor creatures do in this world, but try to ease each other's pain? The
man who succeeds in _that_ is the man I honour."

"I too," said Piers. "But he is lost sight of, nowadays, in comparison
with the man who invents a new gun or a new bullet."

"Yes--the beasts!" exclaimed Mrs. Borisoff, with a laugh. "What a
world! I'm always glad I have no children. But you want