"Get ready, Indiana!"
"I insist on Miss Stillwater resting for ten minutes at least. Don't you agree with me, Mrs. Stillwater?"
"Yes, indeed, Lord Canning. But I can never force Indiana to lie down."
"Well, I will endeavor to see what I can do."
"You will be accomplishing wonders if you can persuade Indiana to do any thing against her will."
"Come, Miss Stillwater. There's a hammock out on the balcony—waiting for you."
"But I must get ready for the drive, Lord Canning."
"Now let me have my way, Miss Stillwater. Ten minutes, more or less, does not count. I don't approve of this rush after meals. This is a wonderful hammock—so comfortable—different from most hammocks. I tried it this morning—simply a piece of canvas stretched flat. I shall take it in my head to sleep out here one fine night. Are you comfortable? Now, Miss Stillwater, you have been very good to take this rest, and I am deeply indebted to you. I shall be still more so if you will try to forget the fact that you are going anywhere. Simply make your mind blank; now, don't raise your head and look at me like that. I mean it—make your mind a blank. Is it impossible for you to keep your eyes shut, Miss Stillwater? Not even for ten minutes—in truth, only eight now. I have a pocket Tennyson—I will read you a few extracts; I always carry some literature about me. In travelling among so many shifting scenes, a thought now and then from a great mind goes largely toward establishing one's equilibrium. By the way, I had this Tennyson with me this morning. I might have read to you on the lake. Still, we did not feel the want of it, did we? Time passed so quickly—almost too quickly. Dear me! 'In Memoriam' is my favorite poem—which is yours, Miss Stillwater?"
"Mine," said Indiana, dreamily. "Let me see—'Evangeline' is very beautiful."
"A charming pastoral—I suppose it would be the favorite poem of a young girl who knows nothing of life—"