ngland, you will be very lonely. Nothing is more lonely than
the English country when you know nobody.'

'Helen is a host in herself,' said Althea; and though Helen did not
realise the full force of the compliment, it was more than satisfactory
to have her acquiesce with: 'Oh, as to people, I can bring you heaps of
them, if you want them.'

'It is a lovely idea,' said Althea; 'and if I must miss Bayreuth, Aunt
Julia, I needn't miss you and the girls. You will have to come and stay
with me. Do you know of a nice house, Helen, in pretty country, and not
too near Miss Buckston?' It was rather a shame of her, she felt, this
proviso, but indeed she had never found Miss Buckston endearing, and
since knowing Helen she had seen more clearly than before that she was
in many ways oppressive.

Helen was reflecting. 'I do know of a house,' she said, 'in a very nice
country, too. You might have a look at it. It's where I used to go, as a
girl, you know, and stay with my cousins, the Digbys.'

'That would be perfect, Helen.'

'Oh, I don't know that you would find it perfect. It is a plain stone
house, with a big, dilapidated garden, nice trees and lawns, miles from
everything, and with old-fashioned, shabby furniture. Since Gerald came
into the place, he's not been able to keep it up, and he has to let it.
He hasn't been able to let it for the last year or so, and would be glad
of the chance. If you like the place you'll only have to say the word.'

'I know I shall like it. Don't you like it?'

'Oh, I love it; but that's a different matter. It is more of a home to
me than any place in the world.'

'I consider it settled. I don't need to see it.'

'No; it certainly isn't settled,' Helen replied, with her pleasant
decisiveness. 'You certainly shan't take it till you see it. I will
write to Gerald and tell him that no one else is to have it until you
do.'

'I am quite determined to have that house,' said Althea. 'A place that
you love must be lovely. Write if you like. But the matter is settled in
my mind.'

'Don't be foolish, my dear,' said Aunt Julia. 'Miss Buchanan is quite
right. You mustn't think of taking a house until you see it. How do you
know that the drainage is in order, or even that the beds are
comfortable. Miss Buchanan says that it is miles away from everything,
too. You may find the situation very dismal and unsympathetic.'

'It's pretty country, I think,' said Helen, 'and I'm sure the drainage
and the be