rade is so
simple as that of an author! His favourite stylographic pen, his
favourite note-book, and that was an end of it so far as work was
concerned. He took his half-plate camera with him, however; and the two
handsome free-wheel bicycles were carefully swathed for the journey.

"I can't understand why you couldn't be content to go to some nice
south-country place, instead of travelling to the other end of the
country in this dusty weather," Agnes opined, as she assiduously fixed
the label to every separate piece of the luggage which was piled
together in the hall. "It's so foolish to waste time and money when
there are nice places at hand. Now, there's Cromer--"

"You don't get heather-clad mountains at Cromer, Agnes, and we shan't
have promenades at Glenaire, nor bands, nor crowds of fashionable people
quizzing each other all day long. We prefer the real, true, genuine
country."

"Oh, well, you'll be tired of it soon enough! Margot will hate it. We
shall have you hurrying back at the end of a fortnight, bored to death.
I don't think that lock of yours is quite safe, Margot. I shouldn't
wonder if you found some things missing when you arrive. The guards
have a splendid chance on these all-night journeys," prophesied Agnes
cheerfully. She stared in surprise when Margot burst into a peal of
laughter, and repeated, "Poor old Agnes!" as if she, secure and
comfortable at home, were the one to be pitied, instead of the careless
travellers into the unknown!

The sisters kissed each other in perfunctory manner, Ron shook hands,
and nodded vaguely in response to half a dozen injunctions and
reminders; then the travellers took their places in the cab, bending
forward to wave their adieux, looking extraordinarily alike the while--
young and eager and handsome, with the light of the summer sun reflected
in their happy eyes.

Agnes felt a little chill as she shut the door and walked back into the
quiet house. All the morning she had looked forward to the hours of
peace and quietness which would follow the departure of the two children
of the household; but now that the time had arrived she was conscious of
an unwonted feeling of depression. The sound of that last pitying,
"Poor old Agnes!" rang in her ears. Why "poor"? Why should Margot
speak of her as some one to be pitied? As her father's eldest unmarried
daughter and the mistress of the house, she was surely a person to be
approved and envied. And yet,