The calm and repose of the stately old place seemed to steal in on her soul not only through eye and ear and sense of touch, but at every pore.
"It's the strangest thing," she mused.

"I must be a sort of chameleon, the way I change with my surroundings.

It doesn't seem possible that only last week I was scrambling around with my head tied up in a towel, scrubbing and cleaning and dragging furniture around at a break-neck speed.

I could almost believe I've never done anything all my life but trail around this garden at my elegant leisure like some fine lady-in-waiting." There was time for a stroll down to the river before the falling twilight recalled her to the house.

As she went down the flight of marble steps it was with the self-conscious feeling that she was a girl in a play, and this was one of the scenes in Act I.She had seen a setting like this on a stage one time, when a beautiful lady trailed down the steps of a Venetian palace to the gondola waiting in the lagoon below.