open at the illustration
of the two lovers drinking the fateful potion!

"Which is your favourite legend?" he asked.

Missy was too nervous to utter anything but the simple truth.

"The story of Sir Tristram and La Beale Isoud," she answered.

"Ah," said Uncle Charlie. He gazed at the picture she knew so well. What
was he thinking?

"Why is it your favourite?" he went on.

"I don't know--because it's so romantic, I guess. And so sad and
beautiful."

"Ah, yes," said Uncle Charlie. "You have a feeling for the classic, I
see. You call her 'Isoud'?"

That pleased Missy; and, despite her agitation over this malaprop theme,
she couldn't resist the impulse to air her lately acquired learning.

"Yes, but she has different names in all the different languages, you
know. And she was the most beautiful lady or maiden that ever lived."

"Is that so?" said Uncle Charlie. "More beautiful than your Aunt
Isabel?"

Missy hesitated, confused; the conversation was getting on dangerous
ground. "Why, I guess they're the same type, don't you? I've often
thought Aunt Isabel looks like La Beale Isoud."

Uncle Charlie smiled again at her--an altogether cheerful kind of
smile; no, he didn't suspect any tragic undercurrent beneath this
pleasant-sounding conversation. All he said was:

"Aunt Isabel should feel flattered--but I hope she finds a happier lot."

Ah!

"Yes, I hope so," breathed Missy, rather weakly.

Then Uncle Charlie at last closed the book.

"Poor Tristram and Isolde," he said, as if speaking an epitaph.

But Missy caught her breath. Uncle Charlie felt sorry for the ill-fated
lovers. Oh, if he only knew!

At dinner time (on Sundays they had midday dinner here), Aunt Isabel
came down to the table. She said her head was better, but she looked
pale; and her blue eyes were just like the Blessed Damozel's, "deeper
than the depth of waters stilled at even." Yet, pale and quiet like
this, she seemed even more beautiful than ever, especially in that
adorable lavender negligee--with slippers to match. Missy regarded her
with secret fascination.

After dinner, complaining of the heat, Aunt Isabel retired to her room
again. She suggested that Missy take a nap, also. Missy didn't think she
was sleepy, but, desiring to be alone with her bewildered thoughts, she
went upstairs and lay down. The better to think things over, she closed
her eyes; and when she opened them to her amazement there was Aunt
Isabel standing besid