"It's rather bare and wind-swept," said Gentian, "but the sun on the sea reminds me of Italy." "If we follow this line along, we shall come to the house I want you to look at, but we'll find the inn first." It was a very small place when they reached it—but it looked clean, and there were flowers in the small garden behind it, which delighted Gentian's heart. They put up the car, then sat down and had tea together. Thorold told them that his friend the Rector had hoped to give them tea—but Mrs. Wharnecliffe was tired and wanted a rest. Motoring was not the exhilarating experience to her that it was to Gentian. But in an hour's time she declared she was ready for a walk, and they sauntered through a sheltered lane which twisted and turned continually till Gentian said it made her quite giddy. Thorold was able to give them a good deal of information about his mine. Work was beginning, and he was very hopeful of the result. "Is it tin or copper?" asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "Tin," said Thorold. "No radium about it?" He laughed. "No, that is only obtainable in the china clay. I am not going to make my fortune over this, Lallie." "If you did, you would only give it away twenty-four hours after you had got it," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe. Gentian was rather silent, listening to the talk but not joining in it. Presently they came in sight of a clump of pines, then a white gate was seen, and Thorold told them that this was the little house he wished them to see. They glided down a drive bordered by high tamarisk hedges, then came to a fair-sized shrubbery of rhododendrons and azaleas, with a background of trees, and then swept round to the front of the house. "What a little darling!" exclaimed Gentian. It was a solid granite house with a slate roof, but it was covered from end to end with creepers. Jasmine and rose, and the sweet-smelling stentonia, and a big magnolia hid the grey walls from view. There was a neglected lawn in front of it, with an old sundial in the middle, but when Gentian jumped out of the car and stood on the doorstep, she gave an exclamation of surprise and delight. The lawn sloped down to green cornfields, and at the bottom of them lay the blue, shining sea. No trees hid the ocean from their eyes. The Cornish coast-line stretched away on the right. To the left against the sky-line was Rame Head, and nearer Tregantle Fort could be dimly seen. The house was small and very old. There were casement windows, and the square stone hall was dark. An old staircase, with solid oak stairs, went up in the middle of it. Mrs. Wharnecliffe looked about her, then opened a door at the back of the hall and found it led out into a square paved court. "Oh," she said, "you must have glass panels in this door to let the light in, Thorold, and turn this little courtyard into a conservatory. What is the aspect?" "East," said Thorold. "Frances Muir suggested a Dutch garden here."