"Whew! what a weariness is civilization!" said the man, with comical
eyes. "We have been making talk with difficulty all the evening which
serves no purpose in the world. Upon my word, my kyloes have the best
of the bargain. And in a month or so there will be the election and I
shall have to go and rave--there is no other word for it, Miss
Wishart--rave on behalf of some fool or other, and talk Radicalism which
would make your friend Dickon turn in his grave, and be in earnest for
weeks when I know in the bottom of my heart that I am a humbug and care
for none of these things. How lightly politics and such matters sit on
us all!"

"But you know you are talking nonsense," said the serious Alice. "After
all, these things are the most important, for they mean duty and courage
and--and--all that sort of thing."

"Right, little woman," said he, smiling; "that is what Stocks tells me
twice a day, but, somehow, reproof comes better from you. Dear me!
it's a sad thing that a middle-aged legislator should be reproved by a
very little girl. Come and see the herons. The young birds will be
everywhere just now."

For an hour in the moonlight they went a-sightseeing, and came back very
cool and fresh to the open drawing-room window. As they approached they
caught an echo of a loud, bland voice saying, "We must remember our
moral responsibilities, my dear Lady Manorwater. Now, for instance--"

And a strange thing happened. For the first time in her life Miss Alice
Wishart felt that the use of loud and solemn words could jar upon her
feelings. She set it down resignedly to the evil influence of her