of Ganymede--in another, Winter. Alas, I
shouldn't have known what they were if I hadn't been told, but I would
have known that they were rare and wonderful.

This was the "surprise." This was the secret of Bignor; but it wasn't
nearly all. There were lovely broken pillars, and lots more pavements,
acres of mosaic, it seemed; for the villa had been large and important,
and must have been built by a rich man with cultivated taste. He knew
how to make exile endurable, did that Roman gentleman! Standing in his
dining-hall, I could imagine him and his fair lady-wife sitting at
breakfast, looking out from between white, glittering pillars at the
Sussex downs, grander than those of Surrey, reminding me of great, brave
shoulders raised to protect England. Now we knew what Mrs. Tupper's
"delightful work" was! For forty-nine years she has cleaned the mosaic
pavement of the vanished Roman villa, all of which were discovered by
the grandfather of the present owner of the farm. Never once has she
tired of looking at the mosaics, because, as she explained to us, "one
doesn't tire of what is beautiful." There speaks true appreciation,
doesn't it? Only a born lover of the beautiful could have said that so
simply.

There was an Italian, a man from Venice, repairing the mosaic. He could
hardly speak a word of English, and beamed with a sudden smile when I
asked him some question in his native tongue. We talked awhile, and I
translated several things he said to Sir Lionel and his sister. I'm
ashamed to confess, dear, that I was pleased to show off my poor little
accomplishment, and proud because I knew one thing which our famous man
didn't. Wasn't that low of me?

"Well, you weren't disappointed in my surprise, I think?" said Sir
Lionel, when we were starting away at last.

I just gave him one look. It really wasn't necessary to answer.

As we flashed on, through country always exquisite, and over perfect
roads, I could think of nothing but Bignor, until suddenly, after
passing through a long aisle of great beeches, like an avenue in a
private park, a tremendous bulk of stone looming at me made me jump, and
cry out, "Oh!"

Sir Lionel turned his head long enough for half a smile. "Arundel
Castle," he said.

It's lucky for me that Mrs. Norton doesn't know much about any part of
England except her own home, and the homes of her particular friends, or
else she would always be explaining things to me, and I should hate
that. It would