very 'cataract leaping in glory,' the scene might have been got
up, apres coup, to illustrate it." And he began to repeat the
beautiful hackneyed words, under his breath . . . .

But about midway of the third line he was interrupted.




II

"It's not altogether a bad sort of view--is it?" some one said,
in English.

The voice was a woman's. It was clear and smooth; it was
crisp-cut, distinguished.

Peter glanced about him.

On the opposite bank of the Aco, in the grounds of Ventirose,
five or six yards away, a lady was standing, looking at him,
smiling.

Peter's eyes met hers, took in her face . . . . And suddenly
his heart gave a jump. Then it stopped dead still, tingling,
for a second. Then it flew off, racing perilously.--Oh, for
reasons--for the best reasons in the world: but thereby hangs
my tale.

She was a young woman, tall, slender, in a white frock, with a