orating Julia's husband
into the household, assuming that she went to the length of taking one,
and that he was a good fellow. On this latter point, it was only the
barest justice to Julia's tastes and judgment to take it for granted
that he would be a good fellow. Yet the uncle felt uneasily that
this would alter things for the worse. The family party, with that
hypothetical young man in it, could never be quite so innocently and
completely happy as--for instance--the family party in this compartment
had been during these wonderful three months.

Mechanically he rubbed the window beside him, and turned to look out
with a certain fixedness--as if he might chance to catch a glimpse of
the bridegroom with whom Julia would have it in her power to disturb
the serenity of their prospective home. A steep white cliff, receding
sullenly against the dim grey skyline; a farmhouse grotesquely low for
its size, crouching under big shelving galleries heaped with snow;
an opening in front, to the right, where vaguely there seemed to be a
valley into which they would descend--he saw these things. They remained
in his mind afterward as a part of something else that he saw, with
his mental vision, at the same moment--a strikingly real and vivid
presentment of Lady Cressage, attired as he had seen her in the saddle,
her light hair blown about a little under her hat, a spot of colour
in the exquisite cheek, the cold, impersonal dignity of a queen in the
beautiful profile.

The picture was so actual for the instant that he uttered an involuntary
exclamation--and then looked hastily round to see whether his companions
had heard it. Seemingly they had not; he lolled again upon the
comfortless cushion, and strove to conjure up once more the apparition.
Nothing satisfactory came of the effort. Upon consideration, he grew
uncertain as to whether he had seen anything at all. At the most it was
a kind of half-dream which had visited him. He yawned at the thought,
and lighted a fresh cigar. All at once, his mind had become too indolent
to do any more thinking. A shapeless impression that there would be a
good many things to think over later on flitted into his brain and out
again.

"Well, how are the mountains using you, now?" he called out to his
niece.

"Oh, I could shake them!" she declared. "Listen to this: 'A view of
singular beauty, embracing the greater part of the Lake of Geneva, and
the surrounding mountains, is suddenly disclosed.'