The grass was dry and lighted by gleams of sunshine, the air only cold enough to make movement pleasant.
When Challoner and his guests returned to the house, he showed them the best bits of the old carved oak with which it was decorated and some curious works of art he had picked up in India, and then he took them to the picture gallery which ran round the big square hall.

A lantern dome admitted a cold light, but a few sunrays struck through a window looking to the southwest and fell in long bright bars on polished floor and somber paneling.

On entering the gallery, Challoner took out a case of miniatures and, placing it on a small table, brought a chair for Mrs.Keith.
"You know the pictures, but this collection generally interests you, and I have added a few examples of a good French period since you were last here." Mrs.Keith sat down and picked up a miniature.
"Millicent would enjoy that picture of the hills at Arrowdale," she said.

"It's near her old home in the North." Challoner and the girl moved away down the gallery, and he showed her a large painting of gray hills and a sullen tarn, half revealed between folds of rolling vapor.

Millicent was stirred to keen appreciation.
"It's beautiful!" she exclaimed.