Sherman and his wife came over for the funeral of their father, and before they could so arrange their affairs as to be able to leave for home, they were called upon to bury, instead of try to console, their mother. Neither Carolina nor Mrs. Winchester liked Adelaide, Sherman’s wife. She was selfish and ignorant, but, with true loyalty to their own, they never expressed themselves on the subject, even to each other. After the period of mourning was over, they accepted her invitation to visit her, and spent a month in New Work. Then, with no explanation whatever, Mrs. Winchester and Carolina went abroad and travelled--travelled now furiously, now in a desultory way; now stopping for one month or six; now hurrying away from a spot as if plague-stricken--all at Carolina’s whim. It was a strange life for an ardent young American to lead, but Noel St. Quentin and Kate Howard, who knew Carolina best, shook their heads, and fancied that the two travellers found in Mrs. Sherman Lee their incentive to remain away from America so long and so persistently. Mrs. Winchester and Carolina were an oddly assorted pair, but their very dissimilarity made them congenial. Mrs. Winchester was a woman who merited the attention she always received. At first sight she did not invariably attract, being stout, asthmatic, vague of manner, and of middle age. She had her figure well in hand, however, large though she was. Her waist-line, she was fond of saying, had remained the same for twenty years, though the rest of her had outgrown all recollection of the trim young girl she doubtless had been. But it was her complexion of which she was most proud. It was still a blending of cream and roses, and her blush was famous. "Carolina, child," she used to say, "don’t let me be ridiculous, just because I am large. Promise me that you will never leave crumbs on my breast, even if they fall there and I can’t see them. If you only knew how I suffered from not knowing where all of me is. Why, with my figure, it is just like the women we used to see in Russia with little tables on each hip and a tray around their necks. Don’t laugh, child. It’s dreadful, my dear." "Well, but Cousin Lois, it wouldn’t be so bad if you wouldn’t pinch your waist in so. Just let that out and you will find yourself falling into place, so to speak." "What!" cried Mrs. Winchester. "Lose the only--the only thing I have left to be proud of, except my complexion? Carolina, you are crazy. I’d rather never draw another comfortable breath than to add one inch to my waist-line. No, Carolina. Don’t advise me. Just watch for the crumbs. For I will not be guilty of the inelegance of tucking a napkin under my chin if I ruin a dress at each meal." Thus it will be seen that Mrs. Winchester was quite determined in spite of the gentlest manner of putting her ultimatum into words. She carefully cultivated her asthma, as, without affording her too much discomfort, it was always an excuse to travel.