for a holiday.

"You must be glad to be going home," she ventured.

"It's a far cry north to my home," said the Scotchwoman, thawing
slightly. "I'm fearing I will not be seeing it this summer. I'll be
stopping in the south with some friends. The journey north is awful'
expensive."

"I'm sorry you aren't going home," Juliet sympathized, "but it will be
nice to see the English faces at Dover, won't it? There may even be a
Scotchman among the porters, you know, by some chance."

"No fear," said her neighbour gloomily. "They'll be local men, I have
nae doubt. Though whether they are English or Scots," she added, "I'll
have to give them saxpence instead of a fifty-centime bit; which is one
of the bonniest things you see on the Continent, to my way of thinking."

Juliet could get no enthusiasm out of her; and, look which way she might,
she could not see any reflection on the faces of those around her of the
emotions which stirred in her own breast. It had been a rough crossing,
in spite of the cloudless sky and broiling sunshine, and most of the
passengers had been laid low by the rolling of the vessel. They displayed
anxiety enough to reach land; but, as far as she could see, what land it
was they reached was a matter of indifference to them. No doubt, she
thought, when the ship stopped and they felt better, they would be more
disposed to a sentimentality like hers.

She found her maid--who had been one of the most sea-sick of those
aboard--and assisted her ashore, put her into a carriage and