“What are your ideas with regard to space, Miss Peel? The whole of Kingsdene-shire lies before us. We are untrammelled, and can go where we please. Is not that a sufficiently broad area for our roamings?”
“But there is no sea,” said Priscilla. “We should never have time to walk from here to the sea, and nothing—nothing else seems worth while.”
“Oh, you have lived by the sea?”
“Yes, all my life. When I was a little girl, my home was near Whitby, in Yorkshire, and lately I have lived close to Lyme—two extreme points of England, you will say; but no matter, the sea is the same. To walk for miles on the top of the cliffs, that means exercise.”
“Ah,” said Maggie, with a sigh, “I understand you—I know what you mean.”
She spoke quickly, as she always did under the least touch of excitement. “Such a walk means, more than exercise; it means thought, aspiration. Your brain seems to expand then, and ideas come. Of course you don’t care for poor flat Kingsdene-shire.”
Priscilla turned and stared at Miss Oliphant. Maggie laughed; she raised her hand to her forehead.
“I must not talk any more,” she said, turning pale, and shrinking into herself. “Forgive my rhapsodies. You’ll understand what they are worth when you know me better. Oh, by the way, will you come with me to Kingsdene on Sunday? We can go to the three o’clock service at the chapel, and afterwards have tea with some friends of mine—the Marshalls—they’d be delighted to see you.”
“What chapel is the service at?” inquired Priscilla.
“What chapel? Is there a second? Come with me, and you will never ask that question again. Get under the shade of St. Hilda’s—see once those fretted roofs, and those painted windows. Listen but once to that angel choir, and then dare to ask me what chapel I mean, when I invite you to come and taste of heaven beforehand.”