utiful. Then I care not how many times.
Mademoiselle, if you would but have your portrait painted as you are,
with your hand on the post, by Sargent or Carolus Duran, there would be
some noise in the Salon."

"Is that you, Vicomte?" came a voice from the foot of the stairs--Mrs.
Holt's voice.

"I come this instant, Madame," he replied, looking over the banisters,
and added: "malheureux que je suis! Perhaps, when I return, you will
show me a little of the garden."

The duty of exhibiting to guests the sights of Silverdale and the
neighbourhood had so often devolved upon Susan, who was methodical, that
she had made out a route, or itinerary, for this purpose. There were
some notes to leave and a sick woman and a child to see, which caused
her to vary it a little that morning; and Honora, who sat in the
sunlight and held the horse, wondered how it would feel to play the lady
bountiful. "I am so glad to have you all to myself for a little while,
Honora," Susan said to her. "You are so popular that I begin to fear
that I shall have to be unselfish, and share you."

"Oh, Susan," she said, "every one has been so kind. And I can't tell you
how much I am enjoying this experience, which I feel I owe to you."

"I am so happy, dear, that it is giving you pleasure," said Susan.

"And don't think," exclaimed Honora, "that you won't see lots of me, for
you will."

Her heart warmed to Susan, yet she could not but feel a secret pity
for her, as one unable to make the most of her opportunities in the
wonderful neighbourhood in which she lived. As they drove through the
roads and in and out of the well-kept places, everybody they met had a
bow and a smile for her friend--a greeting such as people give to those
for whom they have only good-will. Young men and girls waved their
racquets at her from the tennis-courts; and Honora envied them and
wished that she, too, were a part of the gay life she saw, and were
playing instead of being driven decorously about. She admired the
trim, new houses in which they lived, set upon the slopes of the hills.
Pleasure houses, they seemed to her, built expressly for joys which had
been denied her.

"Do you see much of--of these people, Susan?" she asked.

"Not so much as I'd like," replied Susan, seriously. "I never seem to
get time. We nearly always have guests at Silverdale, and then there
are so many things one has to attend to. Perhaps you have noticed," she
added, smiling a little, "that w