The sun had set, and from somewhere among the purple shadows of
the wood the rich, deep notes of a blackbird came to us, with
pauses now and then, filled in with the rustle of leaves and the
distant lowing of cows.

"Not far from the village of Down in Kent," I began dreamily,
"there stands an old house with quaint, high-gabled roofs and
twisted Tudor chimneys!" Many years ago it was the home of fair
ladies and gallant gentlemen, but its glory is long past!" And
yet, Lisbeth, when I think of it at such an hour as this, and with
you beside me, I begin to wonder if we could not manage between
us to bring back the old order of things."

Lisbeth was silent.

It has a wonderful old-fashioned rose garden, and you are fond of
roses, Lisbeth."

"Yes," she murmured; "I'm very fond of roses."

"They would be in full bloom now," I suggested.

There was another pause, during which the blackbird performed three
or four difficult arias with astonishing ease and precision.

"Aunt Agatha is fond of roses, too!" said Lisbeth at last very
gravely. "Poor, dear Aunt, I wonder what she would say if she could
see us now?"

"Such things are better left to the imagination," I answered!"