red off to the billiard-room with her
brother-in-law, and Clodagh followed her hostess into the
drawing-room--a long, tapestried room full of the scent of roses.

The lamps were lighting when they entered; but the windows were set
wide open, admitting the fragrance of the garden. Involuntarily Clodagh
crossed the room, and paused beside one of these broad windows.

A moment later her hostess followed her.

"Well, Mrs. Milbanke," she said, "what do you think of England? Isn't
it a place to be happy in?" She spoke with something of the strength
and domination of her sister; but it was a softened strength, as her
face, although possessing the same bold outline as Lady Frances's, was
softer, gentler, more sympathetic.

Clodagh turned and looked at her.

"I think it is a place to be _content_ in," she said after a moment's
pause.

Lady Diana Tuirnell's glance rested upon her interestedly. And, as the
thought of her youth and her mourning rose to her mind, something like
pity touched her face.

"You are very right!" she said. "We women make a great mistake in
dissociating happiness and contentment. There is too much struggle in
many of our lives, and too little peace. Frances, for instance! Her
life is one restless race after something that is unattainable!"

"But Lady Frances is happy! She likes struggling!"

Lady Diana smiled.

"She thinks she does. But the truly contented woman does not need to
persuade herself that she is satisfied. Happiness is a fact, not an
attainment." With a quiet, kindly movement she turned aside and picked
up two photographs that stood upon a side-table.

"Mrs. Milbanke, this is the happiness that comes--and stays. The
happiness that needs no expounding." She held out the photographs.

Clodagh took them and looked at them. One was the picture of her host;
the other the photograph of three plain-looking, honest-eyed boys, who
each possessed in an almost ridiculous degree their mother's outline of
feature. She looked at them intently for a long time; then she handed
them back.

"Thank you!" she said almost inaudibly. Then, moved by a sudden
thought, she looked up into Lady Diana's face.

"Lady Diana," she said, "I want you to like my little sister! Will you
like her? I don't want her to be one of the struggling women----" Then
she paused suddenly, as the drawing-room door opened and Lady Frances
Hope entered, followed by her brother-in-law.

At the sound of the opening door, Lady D