How kind and gracious and altogether charming this woman can be! Again I can only compare her to the sun's rays, so warm and comfortable she makes one feel. There is a nobleness and a loftiness about her which causes even ordinary things she says to sound like fine sentiments. No wonder Mr. Budge adores her. We spoke very little of people. She told me of her interests and all the schemes to benefit mankind she has in hand. At last she said: "You have not been to Dane Mount yet, have you?" "No. We are going there on Monday, after we leave here." "It will interest you deeply, I am sure." And she looked into the fire. "Antony stayed with you, did he not?" "Yes," I said, and my voice sounded strained, remembering that terrible visit. She was silent for a few moments. "I want you to be friends with me, dear," she said, so gently. "You are, perhaps, not always quite happy, and if ever I can do anything for you I want you to know I will." "Oh, dear Lady Tilchester," I said, "you have been so kind and good to me already I shall never forget it. And I am a stranger, too, and yet you have troubled about me." "I liked you from the first moment we met, at the Tilchester ball. And Antony is so interested in you, and we are such dear old friends I should always be prejudiced in favor of any one he thought worth liking." There were numbers of things I wished to ask her, but somehow my tongue felt tied. It was almost a relief when she turned the conversation. Soon the daylight faded and the servants brought lamps. "It is almost five," she said, at last "What a happy afternoon we have had! I know you ever so much better now, dear. Well, I suppose the time has come to put on tea-gowns and descend to see how affairs are progressing." I rose. "I am going to call you Ambrosine," she said, and she kissed me. "I am not given to sudden friendships, but there is something about your eyes that touches me. Oh, dear, I hope fate will not force you to commit some mid-summer madness, as I did, to regret to the end of your days!" All the way to my room her words puzzled me. What could she mean? XII The scene was picturesque and pretty as I looked at it from the gallery that crosses the hall. Tea was laid out on a large, low table, with plates and jam and cakes and muffins--a nice, comfortable, substantial meal. A fire of whole logs burned in the colossal, open chimney. The huge, heavily shaded lamps concentrated all the light beneath them, viewed from above. And like a group of summer-flowers the women, in their light and fluffy tea-gowns, added the touch of grace to the heavy darkness of the old stone walls. I paused a while and watched them.