She led to the rear of the hall, thence, by a glass door, into a short glass-roofed passage, the door at the end of which opened into the conservatory. The first section was a small rotunda, twenty feet in diameter and twelve feet high. The floor was of unglazed tiles, the ceiling of ornamental stucco; round the wall was a broad cushioned seat, above which, commencing at a height of some four feet from the ground, were windows of richly coloured glass, pictured with leaves and flowers and fruit. A stand for plants occupied the centre, but at present the shelves were almost bare. Mrs. Clarendon threw back one of the windows. “There is a good view from here,” she said. “A tree used to intercept it, but we had it cut down in the spring to clear a piece of ground for tennis.” From the hill, on which the house was built, a broad stretch of green park led the eye to a considerable distance in the direction of Salcot. The roof of the cottage at Wood End was just visible. Kingcote drew attention to it. “I don’t see any smoke from the chimney,” Mrs. Clarendon remarked, with a pleasant glance. “It is to be hoped you keep good fires this damp weather. Is the place rainproof? These last two days will have tested it.” “It seems to be sound.” “And you still find it your ideal?” “The cottage? I did not choose it as an ideal abode.” “But the quietness, the retirement, I mean. In that, at all events, you have not been disappointed.” “Certainly not.” Isabel shuddered. “How you live there I can’t understand. But I suppose you find it best for your studies.” “I don’t study,” returned Kingcote, rather vacantly, looking at the pictured glass of the window. Isabel closed the window and passed to the next door. “I am so sorry Miss Warren is not at home,” she said. “I quite thought she would be, but at the last moment she decided to go to London to see something in the South Kensington Museum--oh, Schliemann’s discoveries!” “Does Miss Warren read Greek and Latin?” “Latin she does, and is just beginning Greek. She’s a wonderfully clever girl, but it’s difficult to get her to talk. I am sure you will find her interesting when you have had opportunities of talking with her.” They were now in an ordinary hot-house. Isabel pointed out the plants which interested her. “I have just had a visit from my lawyer,” she said, as she plucked away some dead leaves. “What tedious people lawyers are, and so dreadfully indispensable.” “I suppose I passed him on the drive.” “No doubt. But I mustn’t speak ill of the good man; he came all the way from London to save me a journey.” They moved about for a few moments in silence. “There’s nothing here to look at, really,” Mrs. Clarendon said. “If I could afford it I should have the place kept in good order; but I can’t.”