And Helen is fine stuff." "So I thought," said Festing quietly, and stopped at the end of the terrace.

The bleating of sheep had died away, and except for the splash of the beck a deep silence brooded over the dale.

The sun had set and the landscape was steeped in soft blues and grays, into which woods and hills slowly melted.
"It's remarkably pleasant here," he said.

"Not a sign of strain and hurry; things seem to run on well-oiled wheels! Perhaps the greatest change is to feel that one has nothing to do." "But you had holidays now and then in Canada." "No," said Festing.

"Anyhow I've had none for a very long time.