ut then, there is the
view. I went over one of the houses one day, and from every window there
was a perfect panorama. You could see miles away. Think what the sunsets
must be from those windows!"

"You live lower down the hill, then?" with an air of polite interest.

"Yes, in such a quiet, secluded corner; but we are near the quarry
woods, and there are such lovely walks. And then the bay; it is not the
real open sea you know, but it is so pretty; and we sit on the rocks
sometimes to watch the sunset. Oh, I should not like to live anywhere
else!"

"Not in London, for example?"

"Oh, no, not for worlds! It is very amusing to watch the people, but one
seems to have no room to breathe freely."

"We are pretty crowded, certainly," returned Mr. Sinclair; "but some of
us would not care to live anywhere else, and I confess I am one of those
people. The country is all very well for a month or two, but to a
Londoner it is a sort of stagnation. Men like myself prefer to be at the
heart of things--to live close to the centre of activity. London is the
nucleus of England; not only the seat of government, but the focus of
intellect, of art, of culture, of all that makes life worth living; and
please do not put me down as a cockney, Miss Lambert, if I confess that
I love these crowded streets. I am a lawyer, you know, and human nature
is my study."

"I quite understand you," returned Bessie, with the bright intelligence
that was natural to her. She was beginning to think Edna a fortunate
girl. "There must be more in her than I thought, or this clever man
would not have chosen her," she said to herself; for Bessie, in her
girlish innocence, knew little of the law of opposites, or how an
intellectual or scientific man will sometimes select for his life
companion a woman of only ordinary intelligence, who will, nevertheless,
adorn her husband's home by her simple domestic virtues. A wife does not
need to be a moral whetstone to sharpen her husband's wits by the
fireside, neither would it enhance his happiness to find her filling
reams of foolscap paper with choice specimens of prose and poetry;
intelligent sympathy with his work is all he demands, and a loving,
restful companion, who will soothe his hours of depression, who is never
too weary or self-absorbed to listen to the story of his successes or
failures.

"I shall be down at The Grange in a week or two--that is, if my mother
be better; and then I hope we shall renew our