inspired by a hat. But when you pipe to me the praises of
a shawl--well, I'm unable to dance."

"Wait till you see it," said Adele. "Besides, there were some lovely
rugs."

"That's better," said I. "I like a good rug."

"Well, these were glorious," said Jill. "They had the most lovely
sheen. But, of course, the shawl..."

"If anyone," said Jonah, "says that ugly word again, I shall scream."

It was half-past nine of a very beautiful morning, and we were
breakfasting.

The last two days had been wet. In the night, however, the clouds had
disappeared, leaving the great sky flawless, an atmosphere so rare as
tempted shy Distance to approach, and the mountains in all the powdered
glory of their maiden snow.

Seventy miles of magic--that is what Pau stares at. For the Pyrenees,
viewed from this royal box, are purely magical. They do not rise so
high--eleven thousand feet, as mountains go, is nothing wonderful.
There is no might nor majesty about them--distant some thirty odd
miles. They are just an exquisite wall, well and truly laid, and
carved with that careless cunning of the great Artificer into the
likeness of some screen in Heaven.

Where, then, is the magic? Listen. These mountains are never the
same. To-day they are very nigh; to-morrow they will stand farther
than you have ever seen them. On Monday they will lie a mere ridge
above the foot-hills; on Tuesday they will be towering, so that you
must lift up your eyes to find the summits. But yesterday you
marvelled at their stablishment; this morning they will be floating
above the world. One week the clear-cut beauty of their lines and
curves gladdens your heart; the next, a mocking mystery of soft blurred
battlements will tease your vision. Such shifting sorcery is never
stale. Light, shade, and atmosphere play such fantastic tricks with
Pau's fair heritage that the grey town, curled comfortably in the
sunshine upon her plateau's edge, looks not on one, but upon many
prospects. The pageant of the Pyrenees is never done.

As for the wedding garment which they had put on in the night--it made
us all late for breakfast.

The door opened to admit Berry.

The look of resignation upon his face and the silence in which he took
his seat where highly eloquent.

There was no need to ask what was the matter. We knew. Big with the
knowledge, we waited upon the edge of laughter.

As he received his coffee--

"I'm not going on like this," he