"Now let me have my way, Miss Stillwater. Ten minutes, more or less, does not count. I don’t approve of this rush after meals. This is a wonderful hammock—so comfortable—different from most hammocks. I tried it this morning—simply a piece of canvas stretched flat. I shall take it in my head to sleep out here one fine night. Are you comfortable? Now, Miss Stillwater, you have been very good to take this rest, and I am deeply indebted to you. I shall be still more so if you will try to forget the fact that you are going anywhere. Simply make your mind blank; now, don’t raise your head and look at me like that. I mean it—make your mind a blank. Is it impossible for you to keep your eyes shut, Miss Stillwater? Not even for ten minutes—in truth, only eight now. I have a pocket Tennyson—I will read you a few extracts; I always carry some literature about me. In travelling among so many shifting scenes, a thought now and then from a great mind goes largely toward establishing one’s equilibrium. By the way, I had this Tennyson with me this morning. I might have read to you on the lake. Still, we did not feel the want of it, did we? Time passed so quickly—almost too quickly. Dear me! ’In Memoriam’ is my favorite poem—which is yours, Miss Stillwater?" "Mine," said Indiana, dreamily. "Let me see—’Evangeline’ is very beautiful." "A charming pastoral—I suppose it would be the favorite poem of a young girl who knows nothing of life—" Indiana sat up suddenly in the hammock. "You make a great mistake, Lord Canning. I have travelled all over the United States. I have come in contact with the world. I have a very shrewd idea of life—" "Lie down, Miss Stillwater, please. That was a very unhappy remark of mine. So you have a very shrewd idea of life. I’m obliged to take your word for it—but, pardon me, you look very young for a person who has such a profound knowledge of the world. Now, don’t talk back at me—remember, you are resting. Please shut your eyes—shut them—it’s only three minutes now. I forbid you to open them again. Returning to our original subject—’In Memoriam’ embodies a philosophy which appeals to me. We must read it together. I suppose you have not given it especial study?" "No." "I think such a poem should be read with someone else. I am very familiar with it. I may be able to throw a light on passages that may appear obscure to you, and, perhaps, ultimately succeed in imbuing you with my own love for it. This— ’Oh, yet we trust that somehow good, Will be the final goal of all—’" "Indiana," called Mrs. Bunker. She sprung from the hammock. "Dear me! it isn’t—yes, it is—eleven minutes and a half." "Provoking," thought Lord Canning, as Indiana disappeared. "I don’t seem to have any time alone with her." He very soon found himself in the little naptha launch, ’Indiana,’ with the rest of the party. "Isn’t this jolly?" said Lord Stafford. "We seem to be always on the go, here."