cherries and spread a spoonful of honey on a piece of bread, and nibbled
at it; and she drank some of the water, looking out of the window over
the glass.

"Was it always so beautiful?" she asked, speaking to herself, in a sort
of wonder at what she felt, as she set the glass upon the table.

Nella, the maid, turned quickly to her with a look of inquiry.

"What?" she asked. "What is beautiful? The weather? It is summer! Of
course it is fine. Did you expect the north wind to-day, or rain from
the southwest?"

Marietta laughed, sweet and low. The little maid always amused her.
There was something cheerful in the queer little scolding sentences,
spoken with a rising inflection on almost every word, musical and yet
always seeming to protest gently against anything Marietta said.

"I know of something much more beautiful than the weather," Nella added,
seeing that she got no answer except a laugh. "Do you wish to know what
is more beautiful than a summer's day?"

"Oh, I know the answer to that!" cried Marietta. "You used to catch me
in that way when I was a small girl."

"Well, my little lady, what is the answer? I have said nothing."

"What is more beautiful than a summer's day? Why, two summer's days, of
course! I was always dreadfully disappointed when you gave me that
answer, for I expected something wonderful."