But, you see, our Madeline is too delicate for the rough English weather, & as we’ve got to choose between Nice & Rome of course we’ll go to Rome again.” As for Madeline, she accepted the change with youthful adaptability, invented fancy-work for her mother, collected flowers, played on the rattling Hôtel piano which had been moved into her sitting-room, & took long walks with her father & Mr. Hastings. These walks, indeed, were the pleasantest part of her quiet, contented days; Mr. Hastings talked so well & got her such pretty wild-flowers, she said simply to her mother. And Mrs. Graham sighed. Madeline was a good, dutiful girl, & full of worship for her father; but perhaps she was not sorry when, on the morning which had been chosen for a long pilgrimage, Mr. Graham got some business letters which required immediate answers, & announced at the breakfast table that he could not go. “Oh, what a pity, John,” said Mrs. Graham, from the sofa. “It is such a beautiful day, & Maddy has been counting on this walk.” Madeline looked studiously at her plate, but the pink was beginning to flutter up into her cheek. “Nonsense!” said Mr. Graham. “Madeline shall go, of course. What do you suppose Hastings wants with an old fellow like me, eh? No, no, Mother; Madeline shall go & they will be only too glad to be rid of me.” “Oh, Papa!” murmured Madeline. But when Guy Hastings appeared an hour later, she was ready in her gray walking dress, with a quantity of light blue veil floating about her leghorn hat & looped around her throat. There was a slight flush on her face, & she had never looked more lovely. “This morning was made for a walk,” said Guy, as he stood by Mrs. Graham’s couch. “But the one we have planned is long. I hope we shall not tire Miss Graham.” “Oh, no,” said Madeline, coming up, “but—Papa can’t come this morning.” “Mr. Graham has some business letters to attend to,” explained Mrs. Graham. Guy glanced at Madeline; “You are dressed,” he said: “won’t you trust to my guidance?” Madeline stood still, blushing; but just then Mr. Graham came in, & overhearing Guy’s words, said warmly: “Yes, indeed she will! Take good care of her, Hastings. I say, she will be glad to have her old father out of the way.” “Oh, Papa,” said Madeline again. So the two started out, Guy carrying her flower-basket & shawl, through the sunny morning weather. A handsome couple they made; & as they walked through the Hôtel garden together, a Russian princess, who was taking an early airing, observed to her little French secretary: “that those English were fiancées; she could see it.” As they reached the gate, a little child who was racing after a hoop, stumbled & fell crying across their path; & Madeline stooped down & picked him up very tenderly. “Are you hurt?” “Not very much, Madame,” said the child; & Madeline felt the blood flying into her face, & wondered whether Guy were very much vexed at having her mistaken for his wife. On through the sunny morning weather: who can tell of that walk, with all its pretty little incidents, & surprises & adventures? It was such a pastoral as drops now & then between the tragedies & farces of life.