ion is a thing he hears about, but fails to realize. He has no need
of it. He becomes like the prize cattle in your park! He has a mind, but
has forgotten how to use it."

She looked at him steadily, perhaps a trifle insolently.

"How old are you, Mr. Macheson?" she asked.

"Twenty-eight," he answered, with a slight flush.

"Twenty-eight! You are young to make yourself the judge of such things
as these. You will do a great deal of mischief, I am afraid, before you
are old enough to realize it."

"To awaken those who sleep in the daytime--is that mischief?" he asked.

"It is," she answered deliberately. "When you are older you will realize
it. Sleep is the best."

He bent towards her. The light in his eyes had blazed out.

"You know in your heart," he said, "that it is not true. You have
brains, and you are as much of an artist as your fettered life permits
you to be. You know very well that knowledge is best."

"Do you believe," she answered, "that I--I take myself not personally
but as a type--am as happy as they are?"

She moved her parasol to where the village lay beyond the trees. He
hesitated.

"Madam," he answered gravely, "I know too little of your life to answer
your question."

She shrugged her shoulders. For a moment her parasol hid her face.

"We are quite _a la mode_, are we not, my dear Peggy?" she remarked,
with a curious little laugh. "Philosophy upon the village green.
Gilbert, tell them to drive on."

She turned deliberately to Macheson.

"Come and convert us instead," she said. "We need it more."

"I do not doubt it, madam," he answered. "Good afternoon!"

The carriage drove off. Macheson, obeying an impulse which he did not
recognize, watched it till it was out of sight. At the bend, Wilhelmina
deliberately turned in her seat and saw him standing there. She waved
her parasol in ironical farewell, and Macheson walked back to the tent
with burning cheeks.

CHAPTER VII

AN UNDERNOTE OF MUSIC

A great dinner party had come to an end, and the Lord-Lieutenant of the
county bowed low over the cold hand of his departing guest, in whose
honour it had been given. A distant relationship gave Lord Westerdean
privileges upon which he would willingly have improved.

"You are leaving us early, Wilhelmina," he murmured reproachfully. "How
can I expect to keep my other guests if you desert us?"

Wilhelmina withdrew the hand and nodded her other farewells. The heat of
the summer even