had the double picture of the house and its
reflection in the lake. "I don't see how there could be any lovelier
one, even in England. How I should like to live in that wonderful old
house! I'd have my own room and a boudoir in the thirteenth-century
tower."

"Would you care to go in?" Alb asked, looking more at Phyllis than at
Nell.

Nell flushed and left Phyllis to answer. "It would be quite like a fairy
tale; but of course we can't, as the people of the house are evidently
occupying it."

"All the better," said Brederode. "The lady of the house will receive us
and give us tea."

"No, no!" cried Nell. "It would be horried to intrude upon her."

"You'll find she won't consider it an intrusion," Alb insisted. "In
fact, I called yesterday and said I was bringing you out to-day, so it
is an invitation."

The hall was stone paved, with glorious oak walls and a wonderful
ceiling. There were a few Persian rugs, which must have been almost
priceless, a quantity of fine old portraits, and two or three curious
suits of armor. Beyond was a Chinese room, done in the perfect taste of
a nation which loves and understands Oriental treasures; and then we
came into a white-and-gold paneled boudoir, sparsely but exquisitely
furnished with inlaid satinwood which I would wager to be genuine
Sheraton.

In this room sat a woman who rose to welcome us, a woman worthy of her
surroundings. Her dress was nothing more elaborate than black-and-white
muslin, but with the piled silver of her hair, her arched, dark brows
and cameo features, her great eyes and her noble figure, she looked a
princess.

"Ah, Rudolph," she exclaimed, in the English of an Englishwoman born and
bred, "how glad I am that you could come, and bring the friends of whom
you have written me so often."

"My mother," Brederode said; and introduced us.

I am not ashamed to confess that I was tongue-tied. _What_ had he
written? How much had he told? In what way had he described--some of us?

Nell, who usually has some original little thought to put into words,
apparently had no thoughts at all; or they lay too deep for utterance.
The L.C.P. was taciturn too, which was prudent on her part, as this
exquisite lady had probably heard her son speak of his Scotch friend
Lady MacNairne. Had she ever met Aunt Fay, I knew that Alb was too wise,
if not too loyal, to have brought us into her power; still I did not
feel safe enough to be comfortable. And even if I had been pers