will come with pleasure."

Sir Charles rose and clapped his hands for the orderly. "Possibly the
ladies will come up to the veranda?" he asked. "I cannot allow them to
remain at the end of my wharf." He turned, and gave directions to the
orderly to bring limes and bottles of soda and ice, and led the way
across the lawn.

Mrs. Collier and her friend had not explored the grounds of Government
House for over ten minutes before Sir Charles felt that many years ago
he had personally arranged their visit, that he had known them for even
a longer time, and that, now that they had finally arrived, they must
never depart.

To them there was apparently nothing on his domain which did not thrill
with delightful interest. They were as eager as two children at a
pantomime, and as unconscious. As a rule, Sir Charles had found it
rather difficult to meet the women of his colony on a path which they
were capable of treading intelligently. In fairness to them, he
had always sought out some topic in which they could take an equal
part--something connected with the conduct of children, or the better
ventilation of the new school-house and chapel. But these new-comers did
not require him to select topics of conversation; they did not even wait
for him to finish those which he himself introduced. They flitted from
one end of the garden to the other with the eagerness of two midshipmen
on shore leave, and they found something to enjoy in what seemed to
the Governor the most commonplace of things. The Zouave uniform of the
sentry, the old Spanish cannon converted into peaceful gate-posts, the
aviary with its screaming paroquets, the botanical station, and even the
ice-machine were all objects of delight.

On the other hand, the interior of the famous palace, which had been
sent out complete from London, and which was wont to fill the wives of
the colonials with awe or to reduce them to whispers, for some reason
failed of its effect. But they said they "loved" the large gold V. R.'s
on the back of the Councillors' chairs, and they exclaimed aloud over
the red leather despatch-boxes and the great seal of the colony, and the
mysterious envelopes marked "On her Majesty's service."

"Isn't it too exciting, Florence?" demanded Mrs. Collier. "This is
the table where Sir Charles sits and writes letters' on her Majesty's
service,' and presses these buttons, and war-ships spring up in perfect
shoals. Oh, Robert," she sighed, "I do wish you had b