fabled London of which young Whittington dreamed. In front of them
lay the lawns of vivid green, with the sunlit raindrops gleaming upon
the grass. The air was full of the chirping of the sparrows. Across
their vision, from the end of Whitehall to Victoria Street, the black
ribbon of traffic whirled and circled, one of the great driving-belts
of the huge city. Over it all, to their right, towered those
glorious Houses of Parliament, the very sight of which made Frank
repent his bitter words about English architecture. They stood in
the old porch gazing at the scene. It was so wonderful to come back
at one stride from the great country of the past to the greater
country of the present. Here was the very thing which these dead men
lived and died to build.

'It's not much past three,' said Frank. 'What a gloomy place to take
you to! Good heavens, we have one day together, and I take you to a
cemetery! Shall we go to a matinee to counteract it?'

But Maude laid her hand upon his arm.

'I don't think, Frank, that I was ever more impressed, or learned
more in so short a time, in my life. It was a grand hour--an hour
never to be forgotten. And you must not think that I am ever with
you to be amused. I am with you to accompany you in whatever seems
to you to be highest and best. Now before we leave the dear old
Abbey, promise me that you will always live your own highest and
never come down to me.'

'I can very safely promise that I will never come down to you,' said
Frank. 'I may climb all my life, and yet there are parts of your
soul which will be like snow-peaks in the clouds to me. But you will