ything male is pretty and maidenly. She
certainly belongs to the Stone Age in some of her ideas; though her
maxims are of a later period. Many of them she draws (and quarters) from
the Scriptures; at least, she attributes them to the Scriptures, but I
know some of them to be in Shakespeare. Lots of people seem to make that
mistake!

Of course, in the car I never talk to Sir Lionel, except a word flung
over shoulders now and then, for Mrs. Senter sits by him. She asked to.
Did I tell you that before? So the day we left Exeter things were just
the same between us; not trustful and silently happy, as at the time of
the _ring_, but rather strained, and vaguely official.

It had rained a little in Exeter, but the sky and landscape were
clean-washed and sparkling as we sailed over the pink road, past
charming little Starcross, with its big swan-boat and baby swan-boat;
past Dawlish of the crimson cliffs and deep, deep blue sea (if I were a
Bluer--just as good a word as Brewer!--I would buy Dawlish as an
advertisement for my blue. It seems made for that by Nature, and is so
brilliant you'd never believe it was true, on a poster); down a toboggan
slide of a hill into Teignmouth, another garden-town by the sea, and
through one of England's many Newtons--Newton Abbot, this time--to
Torquay.

As we hadn't left Exeter until after luncheon, it was evening when we
arrived; but that, Sir Lionel said, was what he wanted, on account of
the lights in and on and above the water, which he wanted us to see as
we came to the town. He has been here before, long ago, as he has been
at most of the places; but he says that he enjoys and appreciates
everything more now than he did the first time.

It was like a dream!--a dream all the way from Newton Abbot, where
sunset began to turn the silver streak of river in the valley red as
wine. There was just one ugly interval: the long, dull street by which
we entered Torquay, with its tearing trams and common shops; but out of
it we came suddenly into a scene of enchantment. That really isn't too
enthusiastic a description, for in front of us lay the harbour; the
water violet, flecked with gold, the sky blazing still, coral-red to the
zenith, where the moon drenched the fire with a silver flood. The hills
were deeper violet than the sea, sparkling with lights that sprang out
of the twilight; and on the smooth water a hundred little white boats
danced over their own reflections.

We begged Sir Lio