"Charles has gone to the nearest blacksmith's forge to get something
made for the car, _madame_," Aline replied. "He asked me to say that he
was afraid he would not be ready to start before midday."

"That does not matter," Louise declared, as she settled down to her
breakfast. "I do not care how long it is before he is ready. I should
love to spend a month here!"

Aline held up her hands. She was speechless. Her mistress laughed at her
consternation.

"Well," she continued, "there is no fear of their asking us for a month,
or for an hour longer than they can help. The elder Mr. Strangewey, it
seems, has the strongest objection to our sex. There is not a woman
servant in the house, is there?"

"Not one, _madame_," Aline replied. "I have never been in a household
conducted in such a manner. It is like the kitchen of a monastery. The
terrible Jennings is speechless. If one addresses him, he only mumbles.
The sound of my skirts, or my footstep on the stone floor, makes him
shiver. He is worse, one would imagine, than his master."

Louise ate and drank reflectively.

"It is the queerest household one could possibly stumble upon," she
remarked. "The young Mr. Strangewey--he seems different, but he falls in
with his brother's ways."

Aline glanced at herself in the mirror. She was just out of her
mistress's range of vision, and she made a little grimace at her
reflection.

"I met him twice this morning in the hall," she remarked. "He wished me
good morning the first time. The second time he did not speak. He did
not seem to see me."

Louise finished her breakfast and strolled presently to the window. She
gave a little sigh of pleasure as she looked out.

"But, Aline," she exclaimed, "how exquisite!"

The maid glanced over her shoulder and went on preparing her mistress's
clothes.

"It is as _madame_ finds it," she replied. "For myself, I like the
country for fete days and holidays only, and even then I like to find
plenty of people there."

Louise heard nothing. She was gazing eagerly out of the casement-window.
Immediately below was a grass-grown orchard which stretched upward, at a
precipitous angle, toward a belt of freshly plowed field; beyond, a
little chain of rocky hills, sheer overhead. The trees were pink and
white with blossom; the petals lay about upon the ground like drifted
snowflakes. Here and there yellow jonquils were growing among the long
grass. A waft of perfume stole into the room throug