h he had had to put up with, the galling injustice he had
had to fight against. Upon this side of the question they just turned
their backs, pooh-poohed it, or, when it was forced upon their notice,
said (unanswerable argument!): "It wouldn't be so!"

When, as they were making the descent, Erica found the strong hand
stretched out for hers the moment the way grew dark, when she was warned
of the slightest difficulty by, "Take care, little one, a narrow step,"
or, "'Tis rather broken here," she almost trembled to think that, in
spite of all her efforts, he might have learned how matters really were.
But by and by his serenity reassured her; had he thought that she was in
trouble his face would not have been so cloudless.

And in truth Raeburn, spite of his keen observation, never thought for
a moment of the true state of the case. He was a very literal
unimaginative man, and having once learned to regard Brian as an old
family friend and as his doctor, he never dreamed of regarding him in
the light of his daughter's lover. Also, as is not unfrequently the case
when a man has only one child, he never could take in the fact that
she was quite grown up. Even when he read her articles in the "Daily
Review," or discussed the most weighty topics with her, she was always
"little son Eric," or his "little one." And Erica's unquenchable high
spirits served to keep up the delusion. She would as often as not end
a conversation on Darwinism by a romp with Friskarina, or write a very
thoughtful article on "Scrutin de Liste," and then spring up from her
desk and play like any child with an India-rubber ball nominally kept
for children visitors.

She managed to tide over those days bravely and even cheerfully for
her father's sake. It was easier when they had left Florence with
its overbright and oversad memories. Peaceful old Verona was more in
accordance with her state of mind; and from thence they went to Trento,
and over the Brenner, passing Botzen and Brixen in their lovely valley,
gaining a brief glimpse of the spire-like Dolomito, and gradually
ascending the pass, leaving the river and its yellow reeds, and
passing through the rich pasture land where the fields were bright
with buttercups and daisies gold and silver of the people's property
as Raeburn called them. Then on once more between crimson and purple
porphyry mountains, nearer and nearer to the snowy mountain peaks; and
at last, as the day drew to an end, they descende