no definite plans as yet, but we don't mean to overwork ourselves even
if we've come for a rest. I don't know," he added, "but we had better
spend our summer in England. It's easier getting about where you know
the language."

The judge seemed to refer his ideas to Breckon for criticism, and the
young man felt authorized to say, "Oh, so many of them know the language
everywhere now, that it's easy getting about in any country."

"Yes, I suppose so," the judge vaguely deferred.

"Which," Ellen demanded of the young man with a nervous suddenness, "do
you think is the most interesting country?"

He found himself answering with equal promptness, "Oh, Italy, of
course."

"Can we go to Italy, poppa?" asked the girl.

"I shouldn't advise you to go there at once" Breckon intervened,
smiling. "You'd find it Pretty hot there now. Florence, or Rome, or
Naples--you can't think of them."

"We have it pretty hot in Central Ohio," said the judge, with latent
pride in his home climate, "What sort of place is Holland?"

"Oh, delightful! And the boat goes right on to Rotterdam, you know."

"Yes. We had arranged to leave it at Boulogne," but we could change.
"Do you think your mother would like Holland?" The judge turned to his
daughter.

"I think she would like Italy better. She's read more about it," said
the girl.

"Rise of the Dutch Republic," her father suggested.

"Yes, I know. But she's read more about Italy!"

"Oh, well," Breckon yielded, "the Italian lakes wouldn't be impossible.
And you might find Venice fairly comfortable."

"We could go to Italy, then," said the judge to his daughter, "if your
mother prefers."

Breckon found the simplicity of this charming, and he tasted a yet finer
pleasure in the duplicity; for he divined that the father was seeking
only to let his daughter have her way in pretending to yield to her
mother's preference.

It was plain that the family's life centred, as it ought, about this
sad, sick girl, the heart of whose mystery he perceived, on reflection,
he had not the wish to pluck out. He might come to know it, but he would
not try to know it; if it offered itself he might even try not to know
it. He had sometimes found it more helpful with trouble to be ignorant
of its cause.

In the mean time he had seen that these Kentons were sweet, good
people, as he phrased their quality to himself. He had come to terms of
impersonal confidence the night before with Boyne, who had consulte