"Better to have your dream incomplete than his privacy invaded," was the apparently unmoved reply. "When an owner plants a sign, 'Private Property,' conspicuously at the entrance to his estate, he is sure to have some idea in the back of his head which is as much to be respected as your curiosity is to be gratified." "It is a compliment in itself that we wish to see the grounds," she persisted; "the owner, whoever he is, could not consider it otherwise." "A compliment which has evidently been repeated often enough to become a nuisance--hence the sign." Marian Thatcher sighed heavily as she threw herself back in the victoria. Her husband was holding out longer than usual. "I simply must see the view from that point," she declared; "and until I can examine that gorgeous _bougainvillea_ at closer range I refuse to return to New York." "There!" laughed Edith Stevens, looking mischievously into Thatcher's face, "that is what I call an ultimatum! Come, Ricky,"--speaking to her brother--"let us walk back to the hotel. It will be humiliating to see Marian disciplined in public!" "You all are making me the scapegoat," Marian protested. "You know that you are just as eager to get inside those walls as I am. Look!" she cried, leaning forward in the carriage. "Isn't that-- Yes, it _is_ a century plant, and it's in bloom! Oh, Harry! you wouldn't make me wait another hundred years to see that, would you?" "Let me be the dove of peace," Stevens suggested, manifesting unusual comprehension and activity as he stepped out of the carriage. "I'll run in and beard the jolly old lion in his den." Thatcher shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly, Marian clapped her hands with delight, and Edith Stevens smiled indulgently as they settled back to await the result of the embassy. This midwinter pilgrimage to Bermuda was the result of a sudden impulse made while the Stevenses were their box-guests at the opera in New York two weeks before. They had exhausted the superlatives forced from their lips by the dramatic transformation from December to June--from ice and snow to roses and oleanders; they had followed the beaten track, touching elbows with the happy bride and the inquisitive traveler, seeing the sights in true tourist fashion; they had passed through the stage of quiet contentment, satisfied to sit on the broad sun-piazza of the "Princess" in passive lassitude, watching others experience what they had seen, learning the regulation forms of recreation indulged in by those who settled down more permanently. From the same point of vantage they had watched the great sails of the pleasure-boats pass so close beside them that they could have tossed pennies upon their decks; they saw the gorgeous sunsets behind Gibbs' Hill, with the ravishing changes of color and light and shade thrown upon the myriad of tiny islands scattered picturesquely throughout the bay.