better than each other's society--the bleating sheep to take us out upon
the hills and the lamp-light streaming through the door as we return
homewards."

"There is nothing better in this world!" said the Countess with
emphasis.

But just then I was not at all of that mind.

"Ah, you think so," said I, "because you do not know the hardness of the
life and its weary sameness. It is better to be free to wander where you
will, in this old land of enchantments, where each morning brings a new
joy and every sun a clear sky."

"You are young--young," she said, shaking her head musingly, "and you do
not know. I am old. I have tried many ways of life, and I know."

It angered me thus to hear her speak of being old. It seemed to put her
far from me I remembered afterwards that I spoke with some sharpness,
like a petulant boy.

"You are not so much older than I, and a great lady cannot know of the
hardness of the life of those who have to earn their daily bread."

She smiled in an infinitely patient way behind her eyelashes.

"Douglas," she said, "I have earned my living for more years than the
difference of age that is between us."

I looked at her in amazement, but she went on--