when her good looks were unimpaired.  Her figure far surpassed in height that of both the other ladies, and was very slender, bending with languor and fatigue in spite of her strenuous attempts to straighten it.  She was clad in a perfectly plain, almost quaker-looking light dove-coloured silk dress, fitting closely, and unrelieved by any ribbon or ornament of any description, so that her whole appearance suggested nothing but the words “washed out.”

It was clear that to let her alone was merciful, and there was no lack of mutual communications among the rest.  Frank and Charlie gave their account of the condition of the game.

“Do you let your tenants shoot rabbits?” exclaimed Cecil, as if scandalized.  “We never do at Dunstone.”

“It prevents an immense amount of discontent and ill-will and underhand work,” said Raymond.

“My father never will listen to any nonsense about rabbits,” proceeded Cecil.  “If you once begin there is no end to it, they are sure to encroach.  He just sends them a basket of game at the beginning and end of the season.”

“By the bye,” said Raymond, “I hope ours have all been sent out as usual.”

“I can answer for a splendid one at our wedding breakfast,” said Rosamond.  “The mess-man who came to help was lost in admiration.  Did you breakfast on ortolans, Cecil?”

“Or on nightingales’ tongues?” added Charlie.

“You might as well say fatted dormice and snails,” said Frank.  “One would think the event had been eighteen hundred years ago.”

“Poor Frank! he’s stuffed so hard that it is bursting out at all his pores!” exclaimed Charlie.

“Ah! you have the advantage of your elder, Master Charles!” said Raymond, with a paternal sound of approbation.

“Till next time,” said Frank.  “Now, thank goodness, mine is once for all!”

The conversation drifted away to Venice and the homeward journey, which Raymond and Cecil seemed to have spent in unremitting sight-seeing.  The quantities of mountains, cathedrals, and pictures they had inspected was quite appalling.

“How hard you must have worked!” exclaimed Rosamond.  “Had you never a day’s rest out of the thirty?”

“Had we, Cecil?  I believe not,” said Raymond.

“Sundays?” gasped Anne’s low voice at his elbow.

“Indeed,” triumphantly returned Cecil, “between English service and High Mass, and Benediction, and the public gardens, and listening to the band, we had not a single blank Sunday.”

Anne started and looked aghast; and Raymond said, “The opportunity was not to be wasted, and Cecil enjoyed everything with unwearied vigour.”

“Why, what else should we have done?  It would have been very dull and stupid to have stayed in together,” said Cecil, with a world of innocent wonder in her eyes.  Then turning to her neighbour, “Surely, Julius, you went about and saw things!”