"Therein lies its charm."

"There are not roads and hotels?"

"The roads the lumberers make. And I saw one hotel, and did not want to
see any more."

"How did you find your way?"

"I had a guide--an Indian, who could speak a little English."

"No other company?"

"Rifle and fishing-rod."

"Good work for them there, I suppose?"

"Capital. Moose, and wild-fowl, and fish, all of best quality. I wished
I could have sent you some."

"Thank you for thinking of me. I should have liked the game too."

"Are you comfortable here?" he asked, lowering his voice. Just then the
door opened; a man's head was put in, surveyed the two people in the
room, and after a second's deliberation disappeared again.

"You have not this room to yourself?" inquired Dilhvyn.

"O no. It is public property."

"Then we may be interrupted?"

"At any minute. Do you want to talk to me, '_unter vier Augen_'?"

"I want no more, certainly. Yes, I came to talk to you; and I cannot,
if people keep coming in." A woman's head had now shown itself for a
moment. "I suppose in half an hour there will be a couple of old
gentlemen here playing backgammon. I see a board. Have you not a corner
to yourself?"

"I have a corner," she said, hesitating; "but it is only big enough to
hold me. However, if you will promise to make no remarks, and to 'make
believe,' as the children say, that the place is six times as large as
it is, I will, for once take you to it. I would take no one else."

"The honour will not outweigh the pleasure," said Dillwyn as he rose.
"But why must I put such a force upon my imagination?"

"I do not want you to pity me. Do you mind going up two flights of
stairs?"

"I would not mind going to the top of St. Peter's!"

"The prospect will be hardly like that."

She led the way up two flights of stairs. At the top of them, in the
third story, she opened the door of a little end room, cut off the
hall. Dillwyn waited outside till she had found her box of matches and
lit a lamp; then she let him come in and shut the door. It was a little
bit of a place indeed, about six feet by twelve. A table, covered with
books and papers, hanging shelves with more books, a work-basket, a
trunk converted into a divan by a cushion and chintz cover, and a
rocking-chair, about filled the space. Dillwyn took the divan, and Mrs.
Barclay the chair. Dillwyn looked around him.

"I should never dream of pitying the person who can be contented here,"