"I ’ve been hearing a great deal about you lately," said she with a soft smile, unobtrusively rearranging a fold of her skirt. "Well," he replied, "I ’m sorry I can’t say the same of you." Slightly perilous, perhaps, but still he thought it rather neat. "Oh!" she said. "You see I ’ve been so much out of England. We were just talking about holidays. I was saying to Mrs. Cotterill they certainly ought to go to Switzerland this year for a change." "Yes, Mrs. Capron-Smith was just saying——" Mrs. Cotterill put in. (So that was her name.) "It would be something too lovely!" said Nellie in ecstasy. Switzerland! Astonishing how with a single word she had marked the gulf between Bursley people and herself. The Cotterills had never been out of England. Not merely that, but the Cotterills had never dreamt of going out of England. Denry had once been to Dieppe, and had come back as though from Timbuctoo with a traveller’s renown. And she talked of Switzerland easily. "I suppose it is very jolly," he said. "Yes," she said, "it’s splendid in summer. But, of course, _the_ time is winter, for the sports. Naturally when you are n’t free to take a bit of a holiday in winter you must be content with summer, and very splendid it is. I ’m sure you ’d enjoy it frightfully, Nell." "I’m sure I should—frightfully!" Nellie agreed. "I shall speak to father. I shall make him——" "Now, Nellie—" her mother warned her. "Yes I shall mother," Nellie insisted. "There _is_ your father!" observed Mrs. Cotterill, after listening. Footsteps crossed the hall, and died away into the dining-room. "I wonder why on earth father does n’t come in here. He must have heard us talking," said Nellie, like a tyrant crossed in some trifle. A bell rang, and the servant came into the drawing-room and remarked: "If you please, mum," at Mrs. Cotterill, and Mrs. Cotterill disappeared, closing the door after her. "What are they up to, between them?" Nellie demanded, and she too departed, with wrinkled brow, leaving Denry and Ruth together. It could be perceived on Nellie’s brow that her father was going "to catch it." "I have n’t seen Mr. Cotterill yet," said Mrs. Capron-Smith. "When did you come?" Denry asked. "Only this afternoon." She continued to talk. As he looked at her, listening and responding intelligently now and then, he saw that Mrs. Capron-Smith was in truth the woman that Ruth had so cleverly imitated ten years before. The imitation had deceived him then; he had accepted it for genuine. It would not have deceived him now—he knew that. Oh, yes! This was the real article that could hold its own anywhere, Switzerland! And not simply Switzerland, but a refinement on Switzerland! Switzerland in winter! He divined that in her secret opinion Switzerland in summer was not worth doing—in the way of correctness. But in winter—— II