“I haven’t got the character from my last place about me at the moment, but I’ll write it out for you when we get back. Meanwhile, I will perform the menial task of fastening on your skates.” They had reached the lake by now. It was a wide stretch of water several acres in extent, and rimmed about its banks with rush and alder. At the far end Jean could discern a boat-house. “It must be an ideal place for boating in the summer,” she said, taking in the size of the lake appreciatively as together they circled it with long, sweeping strokes, hands interlocked. It was much larger than it had appeared from her bedroom window, when it had been partially screened from her view by rising ground. “It’s all right just for paddling about,” answered Nick. “But there’s really jolly boating on our river. That’s over on the west side of the park”--he pointed in the direction indicated. “It divides Staple from Willow Ferry--the property of our next-door neighbour, so to speak. You’d like the boating here,” he added, “though I’m afraid our skating possibilities aren’t likely to impress anyone coming straight from Switzerland.” “I’m sure I shall like skating--or anything else--here,” said Jean Warmly. “It is all so beautiful. I suppose Devonshire is really quite the loveliest county in England? My father always declared it was.” “_We_ think so,” replied Nick modestly. “Though a Cornishman would probably want to knock me down for saying so! But I love it.” he went on. “There’s nowhere else I would care to live.” His eyes softened, seeming almost to caress the surrounding fields and woods. Jean nodded. “I can understand that,” she said. “Although I’ve only been here a few hours, I’m beginning to love it, too. I don’t know why it is--I can’t explain it--but I feel as if I’d _come home_.” “So you have. The Petersons lived here for generations.” “Do you mean”--Jean stared at him in astonishment--“do you mean that they lived at Coombe Eavie?” “Yes. Didn’t you know? They used to own Charnwood--a place about a mile from here. It was sold after your grandfather’s death. Did your father never tell you?” She shook her head. “He always avoided speaking of anything in connection with his life over here. I think he hated England. Is there anyone living at Charnwood now?” she asked, after a pause. “Yes. It has changed hands several times, and now a friend of ours lives there--Lady Latimer.” “Then perhaps I shall be able to go there some day. I should like to see the place where my father’s people lived”--eagerly. Nick laughed.