he north-east wind on
its way from the sea! What a place for a sane man to buy; and yet, in
its cool white smoothness, its glaring individuality, its alien air--how
like the buyer!

Though it was May, and warm enough for the month and place, Morna got up
when the footman had left her, and thrust one brown shoe after the other
as near as she could to the wood fire that glimmered underneath the
great, ornate, marble mantelpiece. Then she sat down again, and wondered
what to say; for Morna was at once above and below the conversational
average of her kind. Soon she was framing a self-conscious apology for
premature intrusion--Mrs. Steel was so long in coming. But at last there
was a rustle in the conservatory, and a slender figure in a big hat
stood for an instant on the threshold.

That was Morna's first impression of the new mistress of Normanthorpe,
and it was never erased from her mind; a slender silhouette in an
enormous hat, the light all behind her, the pilastered doorway for a
frame, a gay background of hothouse flowers, and in the figure itself a
nervous hesitancy which struck an immediate chord of sympathy in Morna.
She also was shy; the touch of imperfect nature was mutually discernible
and discerned; and the two were kin from the meeting of their hands.

Morna began her apology, nevertheless; but Rachel cut it very short. "My
dear Mrs. Woodgate, I think it is so kind of you!" she exclaimed, her
low voice full of the frankest gratitude; and Morna was surprised at the
time; it was as though she were the rich man's wife, and Mrs. Steel the
vicar's.

They sat a little, talking of the time of year; and it was some minutes
before Morna really saw her new neighbor's face, what with her great hat
and the position of the chair which Mrs. Steel selected. And for these
few minutes, after that first frank speech, the greater constraint was
on the part of the hostess; then all at once she seemed to throw it off,
rising impulsively, as though the great high room, with the Italian
tiles and the garish gilt furniture, struck the same chill to her as to
Morna before her.

"Come round the garden," said Rachel, quickly. "I am delighted with the
garden, and I think it's really warmer than the house."

Delightful it certainly was, or rather they, for the Normanthorpe
gardens were never spoken of in the singular number by those familiar
with their fame; they had been reconstructed and enlarged by a dead duke
with a fad for bo