of
those white figures that flit across the old canvas.

Yes, I shall be one of those figures, of course. The Mother has always
told me it was my true vocation; that peace and leisure for reflection
and concentration of mind were the greatest earthly blessings a woman
could have. Ever since, as a very small girl, I longed for the day when
I should be allowed to wear one of those pretty, trailing, white
cashmere dresses and long, pale blue veils, I have looked forward to
joining the Sisterhood of good women who alone have ever given me love
and the protection of home.

Nothing has happened to change my intentions, and they are _not_
changed. Only, I'm not homesick any more, as I used to be in the
feverish Paris days, or even on the Riviera, when we did very little but
rush back and forth between Monte Carlo and Cap Martin, with Prince
Dalmar-Kalm and his friends.

I shall go home and carry out the plans I've had for all these years,
but--I shall live--live--live--every single minute till the time comes
for my good-bye to the world.

I should have liked to stay a month at Bellagio (with the wonderful
garden of Serbelloni to explore from end to end), instead of the two
days that we did stop; still, the moment our start was arranged, I was
perfectly happy at the thought of being in the car again.

There was a discussion as to how we should begin the journey to Lecco
and Desenzano, where we were to sleep one night, for our difficulty lay
in the fact that there's but one road on which you can drive away from
the wooded, wedge-like promontory which Bellagio pushes out into the
lake; the steep, narrow road up to Civenna and down again to Canzo and
Asso, by which we had come. As our car had done the climb and descent so
well, Mr. Barrymore wanted to do it again, perhaps with a wicked desire
to force the Prince into accompanying us or seeming timid about the
capabilities of his automobile. But when Aunt Kathryn discovered how
easy the alternative was (simply to put the car on a steamer as far as
Varenna, then running along a good road from there southward to Lecco),
she said that Mr. Barrymore's way would be tempting Providence, with
whose designs, I must say she appears to have an intimate acquaintance.
Heaven had spared us the first time, she argued, but now if we
deliberately flew in its face, it would certainly not be considerate on
a second occasion.

I was ready so much earlier on the last morning than Aunt Kathryn