isn't room in the car for any one
else. It's a good opportunity for you to see something of England. It's
all very different from Sicily, isn't it? You'll feel your first winter
trying, I'm afraid; we certainly lack sunshine in this climate."

"Give me Egypt," said Major Rogers. "It's this perpetual damp in the air
that makes things melancholy over here. Why, except in the height of
summer it's hardly ever fit to sit out-of-doors. I like a place where I
need a sun helmet."

"You and Mother are salamanders, Daddy!" declared Sheila. "I believe
you'd enjoy living in a hot-house! Now, I like Scotland, with a good
sharp wind across the moors, and a touch of mist in it to cool your
face. I like either town or mountains. If I can't walk down Regent
Street, then I'd tramp over the heather, but I don't admire ordinary
English scenery. It's too tame."

"You surely don't call this tame?" replied her father, pointing at the
village through which they were motoring, "it's one of the show bits of
the Midlands, and an absolute picture. Where are your eyes, child?"

But Sheila was perverse, and refused to evince any enthusiasm, and ended
by pulling out a novel over which she chuckled, quite regardless of the
scenery, and only tore herself from the book to ask for the box of
chocolate marsh mallows that she had bought at the last town where there
was a good confectioner's.

Carmel would certainly have found Dulcie, or even Lilias, a more
congenial companion than Sheila, but she nevertheless managed to enjoy
herself. She loved the country, and was delighted with the variety of
the English landscape. Though less rich than the vineclad south, the
greenness of its fields and hedges never failed to amaze her, and she
was fascinated by the quaint villages, their thatched roofs, church
spires, and flowery gardens. They had been running through
Gloucestershire _en route_ for Somerset and Devon, and were to call a
halt at various show places on the way. Major Rogers, poring over map
and guide books, would plan out their daily route each morning at the
breakfast table in the hotel.

"With good luck and no punctures we ought to reach Exeter to-night
easily," he remarked, looking through the window of an old-fashioned
country inn into the cobbled street where their luggage was being
strapped on to the car.

"But, my dear!" remonstrated his wife. "Why in such a hurry to reach
Exeter? Let us stay the night at Wells, and look over the cathedr