akened. The road turned to her right and led to an old stone village
with a winding broken street and several oak-trees, a pump, and a long
green bench. It might have been the Deserted Village, for the English
rise far later than the Southern races that have fallen so far behind
them in importance and wealth. Beyond the village, on a rise of ground,
was the church, its square gray tower crumbling down upon its ancient
graves. In the distance were farms, coverts, another village, a gray
spire against the blossoming red of the sky; and over all--peace--peace.
Had anything ever really disturbed it? Would there ever be any change?
England had been devastated to the roots, would be again, no doubt, but
unless it became one vast London, it would brood on into eternity with
the slight defiant smile of a beautiful woman in an enchanted sleep.

"Are you, too, an early bird?"

Isabel flew out of her reverie. Lady Victoria was approaching from a
forking road. She wore a short skirt, leggings, and heavy boots; and she
was bright, fresh, almost rosy from swift walking. "I have gone five
miles already," she said, smiling. "But I believe you were sauntering."

"Only just now--to absorb it all. I, too, can do my five miles an hour,
although Californians are the laziest people in the world about
walking."

"Then if you are up to a sharp trot we'll go to that farthest village.
My land steward has been telling me a painful tale about one of my young
women, and I intend to ask her some embarrassing questions while she is
still too stupid with sleep to lie."

"Your young women? Is all this your estate?"

"It belongs to Strathland, but I have lived here since I married, and
now the place is virtually Jack's. These people have been my particular
charge for thirty years and will continue to be until my son marries.
There are only about a hundred families on the estate altogether, but
they keep one busy."

"I can't imagine you in the working role of the Lady Bountiful. Last
night, at least, if I had written to my friend, Anabel Colton, I should
have devoted pages to your more famous attributes, but I should never
have thought of this."

"Indeed? If one could languish through life in the shell of a mere
beauty that life would be a good deal simpler proposition than it is.
Unfortunately there are complications, and, agreeable or not, one
accepts them as one does enemies, husbands, stupid servants, and all
other mortal thorns. But I am no