ty but for
a few chairs and a bamboo settee. Up again to another lovely room, and
then it is crowned by an observatory. From here the prospect is
magnificent. The towns above, that dot the river's edge, and the long
stretch below, are like a panorama. How wonderfully changed! How busy
and thriving this new world is! He thinks of the leagues and leagues he
has traversed where a mill or a factory would be an unknown problem,
and the listless stupor of content is over all. Yet buried in the sand
or under ruins is the history of ages as prosperous, as intellectual,
and as wise. How strange a thing the world of life really is!

Cecil breaks into his thoughts with her tender chatter. She is not an
obtrusive child, and, though bright, has grave moods and strange spells
of thought. She is delighted to be so high up and able to look down
over everything.

They return at length, and he carries her down-stairs. On the second
floor there is a connecting passage to the main house, and two
beautiful rooms that he planned for himself because they were retired.
Feminine belongings are scattered about,--satchels and fans and queer
bottles of perfumery. He guesses rightly that Laura is domiciled here,
and in the adjoining chamber Gertrude lies on the bed with a novel.

"Oh, Floyd!"

"Pardon me."

"Come in," she says, raising herself on one elbow. "I am up here a good
deal, because I like quiet and my health is so wretched. Everybody else
is busy about something, and I bore them, so I keep out of their way."

"You do look poorly," he answers, sympathetically. She is not only
pale, but sallow, and there are hollows in her cheeks. Her hands, which
were once very pretty, are thin as birds' claws. There is a fretful
little crease in her forehead, and her eyes have a look of utter
weariness.

"Yes, I am never strong. I cannot bear excitement. Marcia's life would
exhaust me in a month, and Laura's fuss would drive me crazy. Have they
said anything about her marriage?"

"It is all settled, or will be when her lover comes to-day. Do you like
him, Gertrude?"

"He is well enough, I suppose, and rich. You couldn't imagine Laura
marrying a poor man."

Floyd Grandon is not at all sure that he understands the hidden or
manifest purposes of love, but he has a secret clinging to the orthodox
belief that it is a necessary ingredient in marriages.

"You are cynical," he says, with a pleasant laugh. "You do not have
enough fresh air."

"But