a more earnest plea, and spoiled everything.

"But that will throw us late in arriving at Hereford," said Mrs.
Devar.

"Does it really matter? We shall be there all day to-morrow."

"No, it is of no consequence, though Count Edouard said he would meet
us there."

"And I refused to pledge myself to any arrangement. In fact, I would
much prefer that his Countship should scorch on to Liverpool or
Manchester, or wherever he happens to be going."

"Oh, Cynthia! And he going out of his way to be so friendly and
agreeable!"

"Well, perhaps that was an unkind thing to say. What I mean is that we
must feel ourselves at liberty to depart from a cut-and-dried
schedule. Half the charm of wandering through England in an automobile
is in one's freedom from timetables."

Back dropped Mrs. Devar, and Medenham recovered sufficient
self-control to point out to Cynthia her first glimpse of the gray
walls that vie with Fountains Abbey and Rievaulx for pride of place as
the most beautiful ruin in England.

Certainly those old Cistercians knew how and where to build their
monasteries. They had the true sense of beauty, whether in site or
design, and at Tintern they chose the loveliest nook of a lovely
valley. Cynthia silently feasted her vision on each new panorama
revealed by the winding road, and ever the gray Abbey grew more
distinct, more ornate, more completely the architectural gem of an
entrancing landscape.

But disillusion was at hand.

Rounding the last bend of the descent, the Mercury purred into the
midst of a collection of horsed vehicles and frayed motors. By some
unhappy chance the whole countryside seemed to have chosen Tintern as
a rendezvous that Saturday. The patrons of a neighboring hotel
overflowed into the roadway; the brooding peace of the dead-and-gone
monks had fled before this invasion; instead of memories of mitered
abbots and cowled friars there were the realities of loud-voiced
grooms and porkpie-eating excursionists.

"Please drive on," whispered Cynthia. "I must see Tintern another
time."

Although Medenham hoped to consume a precious hour or more in showing
her the noble church, the cloisters, the chapter-house, the monks'
parlor, and the rest of the stone records of a quiet monastic life, he
realized to the full how utterly incongruous were the enthusiastic
trippers with their surroundings. The car threaded their ranks
gingerly, and was soon running free along the tree-shaded road to
Monmou