and crescents, and the pure white stone
buildings that glitter on the hillsides overlooking the Avon. That is
the sort of background which is becoming to me, and as I had all my
luggage meet me in Bath, I have been able to dress for it; whereas Miss
Lethbridge has done most of her exploring in blue serge.

In a day or two we are off again--Wales sooner or later, I believe,
though I ask no questions, as I don't care to draw attention to my own
future plans. We were asked for a fortnight, and I am not troubling my
memory to count by how many days we have overstayed--not our welcome, I
hope--but our invitation. You will wonder perhaps why I "overstay,"
since I frankly admit that I'm "fed up" with too much scenery and too
much information. Yet no, you are far too clever to wonder, dear Sis.
You will see for yourself that I must go on, like "the brook," until Sir
Lionel asks me to go on--as Lady Pendragon. Or else until I have to
abandon hope. But I won't think of that. And I am being so nice to Mrs.
Norton (whenever necessary) that I think she has forgiven me the colour
of my hair, and will advise her brother to invite me to make a little
visit at Graylees Castle, where it is understood the tour eventually
comes to an end. When this end may arrive the god of automobiles knows.
A chauffeur proposes; the motor-car disposes. And the Woman-in-the-Car
never reposes--when there's another woman and a man in the case.

Your-enduring-to-the-end,

Gwen.

P. S.--That was an inspiration of mine about the Cheddar Cavern, wasn't
it? I have another now, and will make a note of it. N.B.--Get Sir L. to
take me to see the ruins of Tintern Abbey by moonlight (if any) and
while there induce him to propose, or think he has done so. I have a
white dress which would just suit.

XXVII

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_Tintern Abbey_,
_August 27th_

Dearest Saint: We're not exactly living in Tintern Abbey; that
would be too good to be true, and would also annoy the rooks which cry
and cry always in the ruins, as if they were ghosts of the dead
Cistercian monks, clothed not in white, but in decent black, ever
mourning their lost glory. But we are in a perfect duck of a hotel,
covered with Virginia creeper, and as close by as can be. We arrived
this afternoon, and have had an hour or two of delightful dawdling in
the Abbey. Soon we are to have an early dinner, which we shall bolt if
necessary, so that we may go in again by moonlight