with a faint smile; "and the worst
of it is, I believe I have forgotten every word I read."

"Surely not!" cried Miss Skipwith, horrified at this admission. "You
seemed so impressed--so interested. You were so full of your subject."

"I have a faint recollection of the little men in the hieroglyphics,"
said Vixen; "but all the rest is gone. The images of Antony and
Cleopatra, in Shakespeare's play, bring Egypt more vividly before me
than all the history I read yesterday."

Miss Skipwith looked shocked, just as if some improper character in
real life had been brought before her.

"Cleopatra was very disreputable, and she was not Egyptian," she
remarked severely. "I am sorry you should waste your thoughts upon such
a person."

"I think she is the most interesting woman in ancient history," said
Vixen wilfully, "as Mary Queen of Scots is in modern history. It is not
the good people whose images take hold of one's fancy, What a faint
idea one has of Lady Jane Grey, And, in Schiller's 'Don Carlos,' I
confess the Marquis of Posa never interested me half so keenly as
Philip of Spain."

"My dear, you are made up of fancies and caprices. Your mind wants
balance," said Miss Skipwith, affronted at this frivolity. "Had you not
better go for a walk with your dog? Doddery tells me that poor Argus
has not had a good run since last week."

"How wicked of me!" cried Vixen. "Poor old fellow! I had almost
forgotten his existence. Yes, I should like a long walk, if you will
not think me idle."

"You studied too many hours yesterday, my dear. It will do you good to
relax the bow to-day. _Non semper arcum tendit Apollo!_"

"I'll go for my favourite walk to Mount Orgueil. I don't think there'll
be any more rain. Please excuse me if I am not home in time for dinner.
I can have a little cold meat, or an egg, for my tea."

"You had better take a sandwich with you," said Miss Skipwith, with
unusual thoughtfulness. "You have been eating hardly anything lately."

Vixen did not care about the sandwich, but submitted, to please her
hostess, and a neat little paper parcel, containing about three ounces
of nutriment, was made up for her by Mrs. Doddery. Never had the island
looked fairer in its summer beauty than it did to-day, after the
morning's rain. These showers had been to Jersey what sleep had been to
Vixen. The air was soft and cool; sparkling rain-drops fell like
diamonds from the leaves of ash and elm. The hedge-row ferns had tak