me time he felt that he could not
change the opinion she was forming of him, and he rather dreaded the
keen blue eyes that seemed to watch him with such half-sorrowful,
half-scornful surprise.

"All the rest have gone to Monaco for the day. I preferred to stay at
home and write letters. They are done now, and I am going to Valrosa
to sketch, will you come?" said Amy, as she joined Laurie one lovely
day when he lounged in as usual, about noon.

"Well, yes, but isn't it rather warm for such a long walk?" he answered
slowly, for the shaded salon looked inviting after the glare without.

"I'm going to have the little carriage, and Baptiste can drive, so
you'll have nothing to do but hold your umbrella, and keep your gloves
nice," returned Amy, with a sarcastic glance at the immaculate kids,
which were a weak point with Laurie.

"Then I'll go with pleasure." and he put out his hand for her
sketchbook. But she tucked it under her arm with a sharp...

"Don't trouble yourself. It's no exertion to me, but you don't look
equal to it."

Laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed at a leisurely pace as she ran
downstairs, but when they got into the carriage he took the reins
himself, and left little Baptiste nothing to do but fold his arms and
fall asleep on his perch.

The two never quarreled. Amy was too well-bred, and just now Laurie
was too lazy, so in a minute he peeped under her hatbrim with an
inquiring air. She answered him with a smile, and they went on
together in the most amicable manner.

It was a lovely drive, along winding roads rich in the picturesque
scenes that delight beauty-loving eyes. Here an ancient monastery,
whence the solemn chanting of the monks came down to them. There a
bare-legged shepherd, in wooden shoes, pointed hat, and rough jacket
over one shoulder, sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped among
the rocks or lay at his feet. Meek, mouse-colored donkeys, laden with
panniers of freshly cut grass passed by, with a pretty girl in a
capaline sitting between the green piles, or an old woman spinning with
a distaff as she went. Brown, soft-eyed children ran out from the
quaint stone hovels to offer nosegays, or bunches of oranges still on
the bough. Gnarled olive trees covered the hills with their dusky
foliage, fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemones
fringed the roadside, while beyond green slopes and craggy heights, the
Maritime Alps rose sharp and white agains