“Or like a rainbow,” replied Miss Inderwick smartly, “all sorts of colors sparkling like—like—like frosts,” she finished, taking her illustration from the glittering rime on the bare trees.
It was a perfect December day, and the blue sky arched over a white expanse of snow untrodden save for the track up the avenue along which the young couple had travelled. By this time they had come in sight of the great mansion, and paused to admire its irregular beauty. Its red roofs were hidden under billowy masses of dazzling whiteness, as they caught the sunlight, and the darkly-green garment of ivy which clothed it was flecked everywhere with snow wreaths. Icicles glittered like jewels hanging from eaves, porch, windows, and from the carved stonework, discernible through the greenery, so that the place looked like a fairy palace. Although Marie, its fortunate possessor, saw the house daily, she could not forbear an exclamation of delight.
“Isn’t it lovely, dearest?”
“As lovely as you are, my darling,” assented Alan readily. “I think you might show me over the house, Marie, as I have never explored it completely.”
“I daresay. Uncle Ran won’t let anyone go over it, although no end of artists wish to come to it. He wouldn’t even let anyone paint a picture of the outside. I don’t know why?”
“Nor do I,” murmured Fuller, half to himself, “No more than I know why he was not angry with Miss Grison for going over it uninvited.”
“That was strange,” replied Miss Inderwick thoughtfully, “but I think he is a little afraid of Miss Grison, dear. He thinks she is mad.”
“What do you think?”
“I haven’t seen enough of her to say. But Mrs. Millington, her greatest friend, told me that she thought Miss Grison’s mind was giving way.”
“It is certainly not apparent in her management of her boarding-house.”