And I followed her through the long corridors and upstairs to a small sitting-room which was her own little sanctum, where she worked and read--a cosy little place with two queer old windows in the colossal wall, and a floor of polished oak, and great black beams above.

When the owner had occupied the house that room had been disused, but it had, I found, been now completely transformed, and was a most tasteful little nest of luxury with its bright chintzes, its Turkey rugs and its cheerful fire on the old stone hearth.
She laughed when I expressed admiration of her little den, and said-- "I believe it was the armory in the old days.

But it makes quite a comfy little boudoir.

I can lock myself in and be quite quiet when the party are too noisy," she added merrily.
But as my eyes wandered around they suddenly fell upon an object which caused me to start with profound wonder--a cabinet photograph in a frame of crimson leather.
The picture was that of a young girl--a duplicate of the portrait I had found torn across and flung aside on board the _Lola_! The merry eyes laughed out at me as I stood staring at it in sheer bewilderment.
"What a pretty girl!" I exclaimed quickly, concealing my surprise.

"Who is she ?" My companion was silent a moment, her dark eyes meeting mine with a strange look of inquiry.
"Yes," she laughed, "everyone admires her.