liked Claudius very much, and he made her feel that she was leading an
intellectual life. But she had not entirely realised him yet. He was to
her always the quiet student whom she had met in Heidelberg, and during
the month past the feeling she entertained for him had developed more in
the direction of intellectual sympathy than of personal friendship. She
would not mind parting with him any more than she would mind laying down
an interesting book before she had half read it. Still that was
something, and the feeling had weight.

"Miss Skeat," she said, when they were alone, "you have never been in
America?"

"No, dear Countess, I have never been there, and until lately I have
never thought I would care to go."

"Would you like to go now?"

"Oh!" exclaimed the ancient one, "I would like it of all things!"

"I am thinking of going over next month," said Margaret, "and of course
I would like you to go with me. Do you mind the sea very much?"

"Oh dear, no! I used to sail a great deal when I was a girl, and the
Atlantic cannot be worse than our coast."

Miss Skeat's assent was a matter of real importance to Margaret, for the
old gentlewoman was sincerely attached to her, and Margaret would have
been very unwilling to turn her faithful companion adrift, even for a
time, besides the minor consideration that without a companion she would
not go at all. The end of it was that by dinner-time she had made up her