Mrs. Winnie pointed to a suit of armour, placed in a passage leading
to the billiard-room. "I have had the lights fixed," she added. And
she pressed a button, and all illumination vanished, save for a
faint red glow just above the man in armour.

"Doesn't he look real?" said she. (He had his visor down, and a
battle-axe in his mailed hands.) "I like to imagine that he may have
been my twentieth great-grandfather. I come and sit here, and gaze
at him and shiver. Think what a terrible time it must have been to
live in--when men wore things like that! It couldn't be any worse to
be a crab."

"You seem to be fond of strange emotions," said Montague, laughing.

"Maybe I am," said the other. "I like everything that's old and
romantic, and makes you forget this stupid society world."

She stood brooding for a moment or two, gazing at the figure. Then
she asked, abruptly, "Which do you like best, pictures or swimming?"

"Why," replied the man, laughing and perplexed, "I like them both,
at times."

"I wondered which you'd rather see first," explained his escort;
"the art gallery or the natatorium. I'm afraid you'll get tired
before you've seen every thing."

"Suppose we begin with the art-gallery," said he. "There's not much
to see in a swimming-pool."