ter it right and left, which was good in
its way; but it would never satisfy her, Meryl, the visionary and
dreamer, who looked with grave eyes to the far skies, and asked vague
questions.

Presently, with an impatient little kick at a footstool, Diana broke
the silence. "_Do_ you know what you want? Have you any ideas at all,
or are you just a blank?"

Meryl smiled charmingly. "I'm not exactly a blank, but something of a
confusion. I confess crowded Swiss hotels do not sound alluring. I
like Iceland better, but it seems rather ... well ... purposeless."

"And what in the world do you want it to be? Do you want to go a
journey to convert heathen, or preach Christian Science, or explore
untrodden country? If so, you had better take Aunt Emily and go alone.
I'm hoping for a little life and amusement."

"We always have that. I want something bigger for a change."

"O, now you're getting to high altitudes. Meryl, do come down and be
rational. I just feel as if I could shake you." She got up and roamed
round the room, then returned to the window-seat and leaned out of the
window watching some workmen who were painting the balcony below them.
Meryl sat on silently, still seeking some sort of a solution to
something she could not name.

"There's such a good-looking workman," Diana remarked presently, "I'm
sure he's an artist. I wish he would look up, but he is too shy."

"Too wise, perhaps. Why are you sure he is an artist?"

"O, well, because he looks like it. He has a Grecian head, and his
hair curls adorably, and I'm certain his eyes are blue. He'll be just
underneath the window soon, and if he doesn't look up then I shall
drop something to make him."

"Come away to lunch and don't be a goose. The gong sounded quite five
minutes ago."

Diana withdrew her head reluctantly.

"Who wants to eat cutlets when they can watch a Grecian profile!"

"Perhaps you would sooner drop one on his head to make him look up?"

"I would; much sooner. Do you think they've brought their lunch with
them, or shall we send them some?"

"I expect they've got their dinners in red pocket-handkerchiefs,
hidden away somewhere at the back."

"Except my Greek"--with a little smile--"and I'm sure his is in a
Liberty silk square."

They sat down to lunch in the big, oppressive dining-room alone, as
their chaperon, Aunt Emily, was laid up with a headache, and Mr. Henry
Pym, Meryl's father, was usually in the City at midday. And after
lunch