"Oh, you mustn't be dull or unhappy," she was saying; "you will have nice neighbours, and I always have house-parties during the summer. There will be plenty going on soon. Come over and see me before my visitors arrive, if you like. I am alone now, and it would be a charity to take pity on me. The only time I get the blues is when I have nobody to talk to." "Have you a dog?" asked Rowena. "I had a winter of solitude up in the Highlands and found my little 'Shags' a great comfort when I wanted to deliver my soul!" Mrs. Burke turned quickly to her. "I never make friends with my dogs. I have no time. It takes me all my time to live. I tried companions, but oh! how they bored me! They were either a mild echo of myself, or tried to manage me. Will you waive ceremony and come to lunch with me next Wednesday? Do—I have quite a good cook, and she does hate wasting her dainties on me. I never know or care what I eat when I'm alone." Mrs. Arbuthnot accepted the invitation, but when the day came, her little girl was not well, and she would not leave her. She insisted upon Rowena going, and begged her to enjoy herself. "There is so little going on here, that I am quite glad of a sociable neighbour, and I shall look forward to your account of her when you return. You always see the amusing side of everybody!" Rowena walked off. She thought nothing of the three miles, and enjoyed every step of her way. She found that Mrs. Burke was not alone; two girls, by name Violet and Diana Dunstan, were lunching with her, and the talk was chiefly on hunting, and the last meet which was taking place the following week. The girls went off directly after lunch, but Mrs. Burke pressed Rowena to stay, and took her into a very cosy little morning-room. "I'm very fond of Vi and Di, as they are called, but one soon gets to the end of them, and I haven't got to the beginning of you yet." "I shan't take much knowing," said Rowena easily. "I am pretty well what I look. An ordinary sort of every-day person." "You are neither one nor the other," replied Mrs. Burke promptly. "Now I have powers of observation, and you're a reader; that I know from the way you scanned my bookshelves when you came in here." "Well, yes, I am. My truant eyes betrayed me." "You'll find nothing but novels, and books of travel and adventure," said Mrs. Burke. "I cannot understand poetry, and history is most unsatisfactory. Theology and all the other ologies are too stiff and dry. I have no time for thinking. Like the Americans, I like to make things hum. And people interest me more than anything else in the world. Would you like to hear about your neighbours?" "Very much," was Rowena's response.