freshness in the morning air, or even find a
little bit of the whitlow-grass in flower among the moss of an old wall.
And Major Stuart had come over to Dare once or twice; and had privately
given Lady Macleod and her niece such enthusiastic accounts of Miss
Gertrude White that the references to her forthcoming visit ceased to be
formal and became friendly and matter of course. It was rarely,
however, that Keith Macleod mentioned her name. He did not seem to wish
for any confidant. Perhaps her letters were enough.

But on one occasion Janet Macleod said to him, with a shy smile.

"I think you must be a very patient lover, Keith, to spend all the
winter here. Another young man would have wished to go to London."

"And I would go to London, too!" he said suddenly, and then he stopped.
He was somewhat embarrassed. "Well, I will tell you, Janet. I do not
wish to see her any more as an actress, and she says it is better that I
do not go to London; and--and, you know, she will soon cease to be an
actress."

"But why not now," said Janet Macleod, with some wonder, "if she has
such a great dislike for it?"

"That I do not know," said he, somewhat gloomily.

But he wrote to Gertrude White, and pressed the point once more, with
great respect, it is true, but still with an earnestness of pleading
that showed how near the matter lay to his heart. It was a letter that
would have touched most women; and even Miss Gertrude White was pleased
to see how anxiously interested he was in her.

"But you know, my dear Keith," she wrote back, "when people are going to
take a great plunge into the sea, they are warned to wet their head
first. And don't you think I should accustom myself to the change you
have in store for me by degrees? In any case, my leaving the stage at
the present moment could make no difference to us--you in the Highlands,
I in London. And do you know, sir, that your request is particularly
ill-timed; for, as it happens, I am about to enter into a new dramatic
project of which I should probably never have heard but for you. Does
that astonish you? Well, here is the story. It appears that you told the
Duchess of Wexford that I would give her a performance for the new
training-ship she is getting up; and, being challenged, could I break a
promise made by you? And only fancy what these clever people have
arranged, to flatter their own vanity in the name of charity. They have
taken St. George's Hall, and the distinguishe