"It is like a dream to me," he said, honestly enough, "since I came to
London. You seem always to have sunlight and plenty of fine trees and
hot-house flowers. But I suppose you have winter, like the rest us?"

"Or we should very soon tire of all this, beautiful as it is," said
she; and she looked rather wistfully out on the broad, still gardens.
"For my part, I should very soon tire of it. I should think there was
more excitement in the wild storms and the dark nights of the north;
there must be a strange fascination in the short winter days among the
mountains, and the long winter nights by the side of the Atlantic."

He looked at her and smiled. That fierce fascination he knew something
of: how had she guessed at it? And as for her talking as if she herself
would gladly brave these storms--was it for a foam-bell to brave a
storm? was it for a rose-leaf to meet the driving rains of
Ben-an-Sloich?

"Shall we go back now?" said she; and as she turned to lead the way he
could not fail to remark how shapely her neck was, for her rich
golden-brown hair was loosely gathered up behind.

But just at this moment Mrs. Ross made her appearance.

"Come," said she, "we shall have a chat all to ourselves; and you will
tell me, Sir Keith, what you have seen since you came to London, and
what has struck you most. And you must stay with us, Gertrude. Perhaps
Sir Keith will be so kind as to freeze your blood with another horrible
story about the Highlanders. I am only a poor southerner, and had to get
up my legends from books. But this wicked girl, Sir Keith, delights as
much in stories of bloodshed as a schoolboy does."