“I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. She'll be mighty interesting to watch. A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. “It means that I have had enough of this slavery,” she declared. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland.
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