a piece of beef. You know that, as far as I am concerned, a piece of beef is infinitely preferable."
He smiled half shyly. "I feel it thoroughly, Miss Ragnhild—I am a most unworthy person. Scold me as much as you like—I deserve it. But you will see, I shall improve. It's just a sort of childish complaint I am going through, I expect—a little old-fashioned romance perhaps. You know what the new-fashioned prophets preach. We all carry about an inheritance of moth-eaten, worn-out romance, they say—and either my father or my mother must have been endowed with an extra share of it."
"Your mother?"
"Yes—but let us talk about something else! You mustn't forget what you wanted to tell me. For I suppose it was not this?"
They had reached a broad avenue of chestnuts, which formed the boundary between the garden and the fields. A jubilant host of metallic shining starlings fluttered about in the sunshine among the tree-tops; and a warm balmy breeze brought in a scent of earth and fresh verdure from the fields. Between two trunks stood a rustic seat, before which Miss Ragnhild stopped, and said—
"Shall we sit down for a little while? The sun is so warm here."
She flicked away some dry leaves from the wooden seat with the tassels of her shawl, and
