'No. I happened to read a book about it. It's the old fighting-ground of French and English--interesting to any one pedantic enough to care for such things.' 'But not to people born to be sheep-farmers. And you had a serious illness.--Did Mr. Rolfe tell you, Mamma dear, that he nearly died at some miserable roadside inn?' Mrs. Frothingham looked startled, and declared she knew nothing of it. Harvey, obliged to narrate, did so in the fewest possible words, and dismissed the matter. 'I suppose you have had many such experiences,' said Alma. 'And when do you start on your next travels?' 'I have nothing in view. I half thought of going for the winter to a place in North Wales--Carnarvonshire, on the outer sea.' The ladies begged for more information, and he related how, on a ramble with a friend last spring (it was Basil Morton), he had come upon this still little town between the mountains and the shore, amid a country shining with yellow gorse, hills clothed with larch, heathery moorland, ferny lanes, and wild heights where the wind roars on crag or cairn. 'No railway within seven miles. Just the place for a pedant to escape to, and live there through the winter with his musty books.' 'But it must be equally delightful for people who are not pedants!' exclaimed Alma. 'In spring or summer, no doubt, though even then the civilised person would probably find it dull.' 'That's your favourite affectation again. I'm sure it's nothing but affectation when you speak scornfully of civilised people.' 'Scornfully I hope I never do.' 'Really, Mamma,' said Alma, with a laugh, 'Mr. Rolfe is in his very mildest humour today. We mustn't expect any reproofs for our good. He will tell us presently that we are patterns of all the virtues.' Mrs. Frothingham spoke in a graver strain. 'But I'm sure it is possible to be too civilised--to want too many comforts, and become a slave to them. Since I have been living here, Mr Rolfe, you can't think how I have got to enjoy the simplicity of this kind of life. Everything is so easy; things go so smoothly. Just one servant, who can't make mistakes, because there's next to nothing to do. No wonder people are taking to flats.' 'And is that what you mean by over-civilisation?' Alma asked of Rolfe. 'I didn't say anything about it. But I should think many people in large and troublesome houses would agree with Mrs. Frothingham. It's easy to imagine a time when such burdens won't be tolerated. Our misfortune is, of course, that we are not civilised enough.' 'Not enough to give up fashionable nonsense. I agree with that. We're wretched slaves, most of us.' It was the first sentence Alma had spoken in a tone that Rolfe recognised. For a moment her face lost its placid smile, and Harvey hoped that she would say more to the same purpose; but she was silent. 'I'm sure,' remarked Mrs. Frothingham, with feeling, 'that most happiness is found in simple homes.'