There was a little more colour in her cheeks than at the commencement of luncheon, and her manner had become more animated.
"Tell me about the village where you live ?" he inquired--"Market Burnham, isn't it ?" "When we first went there," she replied, "I thought that it was simply Paradise.

That was four years ago, though, and I scarcely counted upon spending the winters there." "You find it lovely, then." She shivered a little, half closing her eyes as though to shut out some unpleasant memory.
"The house," she explained, "is on a sort of tongue of land, with a tidal river on either side and the sea not fifty yards away from our drawing-room window.

When there are high tides, we are simply cut off from the mainland altogether unless we go across on a farm cart." "You mustn't draw too gloomy a picture of your home," Lady Anselman said.

"I have seen it when it was simply heavenly." "And I have seen it," the girl retorted, with a note of grimness in her tone, "when it was a great deal more like the other place--stillness that seems almost to stifle you, grey mists that choke your breath and blot out everything; nothing but the gurgling of a little water, and the sighing--the most melancholy sighing you ever heard--of the wind in our ragged elms.

I am talking about the autumn and winter now, you must remember." "It doesn't sound attractive," Granet admitted.