It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. "I don't believe McClintock would have gone into convulsions at the sight of it.
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