, was
seeking a companion for a year's travel. Lilia gave up her house, sold
half her furniture, left the other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and
had now departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene.

She wrote to them frequently during the winter--more frequently than she
wrote to her mother. Her letters were always prosperous. Florence she
found perfectly sweet, Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one had
simply to sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she was
improving. He was particularly gratified when in the early spring she
began to visit the smaller towns that he had recommended. "In a place
like this," she wrote, "one really does feel in the heart of things, and
off the beaten track. Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, it
seems impossible that the middle ages have passed away." The letter was
from Monteriano, and concluded with a not unsuccessful description of
the wonderful little town.

"It is something that she is contented," said Mrs. Herriton. "But no one
could live three months with Caroline Abbott and not be the better for
it."

Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her mother's letter to
her, carefully correcting any grammatical errors, for she was a loyal
supporter of parental authority--Irma listened politely, but soon
changed the subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed.
They were to vote for colours that afternoon--yellow and white or yellow
and green. What did her grandmother think?

Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she sedately expounded, in
spite of Harriet, who said that colours were unnecessary for children,
and of Philip, who said that they were ugly. She was getting proud of
Irma, who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be called
that most appalling of things--a vulgar child. She was anxious to form
her before her mother returned. So she had no objection to the leisurely
movements of the travellers, and even suggested that they should
overstay their year if it suited them.

Lilia's next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip grew quite
enthusiastic.

"They've stopped there over a week!" he cried. "Why! I shouldn't have
done as much myself. They must be really keen, for the hotel's none too
comfortable."

"I cannot understand people," said Harriet. "What can they be doing all
day? And there is no church there, I suppose."

"There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful churche