'Not open foes; we have always maintained an armed neutrality. I don't like her, and she doesn't like me, and we both know it. But perhaps I ought not to be so candid. She may be a favourite of yours.' 'She might be, but she is not. She is very elegant, very lady-like--according to her own lights--very viperish.' It was a lovely drive in the crisp clear air, across the breezy hills. Ida could not help enjoying the freshness of morning, the beauty of earth, albeit she was going from comfort to discomfort, from love to cold indifference or open enmity. 'How I delight in this landscape!' she exclaimed. 'Is it not ever so much better than Norway?' appealing to Brian. 'It is a milder, smaller kind of beauty,' he answered. 'Would you not like to see Norway?' 'I would like to see all that is lovely on earth; yet I think I could be content to spend a life-time here. This must seem strange to you, who grow weary of that beautiful Abbey.' 'It is not of his house, but of himself, that a man grows weary,' answered Brian. Robin was in a vivacious humour, and rattled the car across the hills at a good pace. They had a quarter of an hour to wait at the busy little station. Brian and Ida walked up and down the platform talking, while Reginald looked after the pony and the luggage. They found so much to say to each other, that the train seemed to come too soon. They bade each other good-bye with a tender look on Brian's part, a blush on Ida's. Reginald had to push his cousin away from the carriage window, in order to get a word with the departing guest. 'We shall all miss you awfully,' he said; 'but mind, you must come back at Christmas.' 'I shall be only too glad, if Mrs. Wendover will have me. Good-bye.' The train moved slowly forward, and she was gone. 'Isn't she a stunner?' asked Reginald of his cousin, as they stood on the platform looking at each other blankly. 'She is the handsomest girl I ever saw, and out and away the nicest,' answered Brian. CHAPTER VII. IN THE RIVER-MEADOW. The old hackneyed round of daily life at Mauleverer Manor seemed just a little worse to Ida Palliser after that happy break of six weeks' pure and perfect enjoyment. Miss Pew was no less exacting than of old. Miss Pillby, for whose orphaned and friendless existence there had been no such thing as a holiday, and who had spent the vacation at Mauleverer diligently employed in mending the house-linen, resented Ida's visit to The Knoll as if it were a personal injury, and vented her envy in sneers and innuendoes of the coarsest character. 'If _I_ were to spoon upon one of the rich pupils, I dare say I could get invited out for the holidays,' she said, _à propos_ to nothing particular; 'but I am thankful to say I am above such meanness.'