"I don't agree, either," Mabel broke in. "I'd sooner have been Cleopatra,
or Joan of Arc--only she was burned, poor thing."

"That was only what she might have expected. An unpleasant fate
generally overtakes people who go about disturbing things," Mrs.
Chisholm said severely.

The speech was characteristic, and the others smiled. It would have
astonished them had Mrs. Chisholm sympathized with the rebel idealist
whose beckoning visions led to the clash of arms.

"Aren't you getting off the track," Vane asked Carroll. "I don't see the
drift of your previous remarks."

"Well," drawled Carroll, "there must be, I think, a certain distinctive
stamp upon those who belong to the leader type--I mean the people who are
capable of doing striking and heroic things. Apart from this, I've been
studying you English--I've been over here before--and it has struck me
that there's occasionally something imperious, or rather imperial, in
the faces of your women in the most northern counties. I can't define the
thing, but it's there--in the line of nose, in the mouth, and, I think,
most marked in the brows. It's not Saxon, nor Norse, nor Danish; I'd
sooner call it Roman."

Vane was slightly astonished. He had seen that look in Evelyn's face, and
now, for the first time, he recognized it in his sister's.

"Perhaps you have hit it," he said with a laugh. "You can reach the Wall
from here in a day's ride."