“I don't remember; I think not. Is it an American serial?” gasped Dunbeg, trying hard to keep pace with Miss Dare in her reckless dashes across country. “No, not serial at all!” replied Virginia; “but I am afraid you would find it very hard reading. I shouldn't try.” “Do you read it much, Miss Dare?” “Oh, always! I am not really as light as I seem. But then I have an advantage over you because I know the language.” By this time Dunbeg was awake again, and Miss Dare, satisfied with her success, allowed herself to become more reasonable, until a slight shade of sentiment began to flicker about their path. The scattered party, however, soon had to unite again. The boat rang its bell for return, they filed down the paths and settled themselves in their old places. As they steamed away, Mrs. Lee watched the sunny hill-side and the peaceful house above, until she could see them no more, and the longer she looked, the less she was pleased with herself. Was it true, as Victoria Dare said, that she could not live in so pure an air? Did she really need the denser fumes of the city? Was she, unknown to herself; gradually becoming tainted with the life about her? or was Ratcliffe right in accepting the good and the bad together, and in being of his time since he was in it? Why was it, she said bitterly to herself; that everything Washington touched, he purified, even down to the associations of his house? and why is it that everything we touch seems soiled? Why do I feel unclean when I look at Mount Vernon? In spite of Mr. Ratcliffe, is it not better to be a child and to cry for the moon and stars? The little Baker girl came up to her where she stood, and began playing with her parasol. “Who is your little friend?” asked Ratcliffe. Mrs. Lee rather vaguely replied that she was the daughter of that pretty woman in black; she believed her name was Baker. “Baker, did you say?” repeated Ratcliffe. “Baker--Mrs. Sam Baker; at least so Mr. Carrington told me; he said she was a client of his.” In fact Ratcliffe soon saw Carrington go up to her and remain by her side during the rest of the trip. Ratcliffe watched them sharply and grew more and more absorbed in his own thoughts as the boat drew nearer and nearer the shore. Carrington was in high spirits. He thought he had played his cards with unusual success. Even Miss Dare deigned to acknowledge his charms that day. She declared herself to be the moral image of Martha Washington, and she started a discussion whether Carrington or Lord Dunbeg would best suit her in the rôle of the General. “Mr. Carrington is exemplary,” she said, “but oh, what joy to be Martha Washington and a Countess too!” Chapter VII