approach so near, and believing me at a safe distance, she took the
answer for granted. "What a fairyland in glass there is in this church!"
she went on, joyously. "What skies, and backgrounds of medieval castles
and towers, and what luminous colors. I'd love to be one of those little
red and yellow men looking out of the tower at the battle going on
below, among the queer ships wallowing in the crisp waves, and live
always in that fantastic glass country. I want to know what's inside the
tower, don't you? Which man will you choose to be?"

"The one on your right side," said I, quietly.

Then she whisked round, and blushed with vexation.

"That you could _never_ be," she flung at me, and walked away; but I
followed.

"Won't you tell me why?" I asked. "What have I done to offend you?"

"If you don't know, I couldn't make you understand."

"Perhaps it's you who don't understand. But you will, some day."

"Oh, I've no curiosity."

"Am I spoiling your trip?"

"I'm not going to let you."

"Thanks. Then you'd better let me help to make it pleasanter. I can, in
many ways."

"I don't need help in enjoying Holland. I intend to enjoy it every
instant, in--in----"

"Won't you finish?"

"In spite of you."

"I vow it shall be partly because of me."

"You're very fond of vowing."

Then, at last, I knew where I stood. I knew that Robert _had_ said
something.

Into the midst of this crisis dropped Miss Rivers. No doubt she had seen
the expression on our faces, and intervened in pure good-heartedness to
snatch me as a brand from the burning; for she threw herself into talk
about the church, crying out against the hideous havoc we Protestants
had wrought with whitewash and crude woodwork.

"I'm not Catholic, not a bit Catholic, though I may be a little high
church; but I _couldn't_ have spoiled everything just for the sake of
getting a place to worship in, cheap, without having to put up a new
building. Why, it's like _murder_!"

Then my lady flashed out at her unexpectedly, and saved me an answer.

"Where's your imagination, Phil? It must have gone wool-gathering, or
you could put yourself into the place of these people and see why they
tore away the pictures and statues, and hid every bit of color with
whitewash. I love beauty, but I would have done as they did. Color in
churches was to them the life-blood of their nearest and dearest,
splashed upon the walls. Those statues, those pictured saints they
pulled