"Am I responsible for the annoyance you referred to?" Keen as was his gaze, she did not waver. "Personally it was impossible that you could have been responsible. When it occurred you were in Catania." She saw that he was not satisfied, and, rising, put on her hat. "We must go back; father will have so much to talk over with you. Please carry my acanthus; I shall make a sketch of this spray, it is so laden with blossoms." In silence they walked some distance, and rather suddenly she exclaimed: "I must have been rude indeed, when you, so generous and kind, will not forgive me. Mr. Noel, I am not quite my old self, and to-day have felt at odds with the world. Father's incomprehensible retirement from public life grieves and perplexes me, because his health is perfect, and I cannot patiently accept the forfeiture of all my hopes for his political future. Without his knowledge, I wrote early in the new Administration to two prominent officials, close personal friends of the President, and asked their influence in securing a foreign ministerial position for my father. With elaborate circumlocution they expressed regrets, and 'tendered kindest remembrance and best wishes.' I presume it is wise to wage no war with the inevitable, but I simply cannot reconcile myself to the most bitter disappointment of my life. You see, I trust you so entirely I am opening my heart to you, that you may quite understand I did not intend to show any lack of cordiality to you." He laughed, and tapped her shoulder twice with the acanthus spray. "With all my heart I absolve you. Rude you could not be, and I trust the time will never come when I deserve to be treated less cordially than in the past. When do you go back to America?" "In May or June. Ma-Lila will stay away no longer; she is so anxious to look after her little fifty-acre farm." "In the South, of course?" "Yes; it is a corner of one of the 'bend plantations,' and with a new, pretty cottage, well furnished, grandmother gave it to her as a bridal present. None of us can ever forget that her father was killed while bringing my dying grandfather off the battle-field." "Has Judge Kent decided where he will live?" "He has sold the old homestead in New England, and we expect to settle down in the only remaining home, Nutwood, which, in accordance with grandmother's will, we now have the right to occupy. Until this year the trustees controlled and closed it." "Do not forget that whenever you and your father wish to visit New York the house in Thirty-eighth Street will be entirely at your disposal--at least for a couple of years. A telegram to my old butler Hawkins will always insure a comfortable reception. Here comes the Judge. How remarkably well he looks."