"Oh yes, once or twice. Just before you came, he was here; but he lives a long way off, and I don't really want him to come too often—it's so tiring seeing people when you're ill."
Marjorie rather wondered at this remark. Surely if Lady Violet were very fond of her fiancé, she would not find his company tiring, although she was ill. However, she made no remark, but went on quietly with her work.
"Marjorie," said Lady Violet, presently, "you've never seen my photographs. I have two large albums full. Would you like to look at them?"
"Very much indeed. May I get them?"
"Yes, do. They're on the bottom shelf of that bookcase in the corner. Switch on more light, and sit in that armchair; you will see them better there."
Marjorie brought the albums, and sat down to look through the hundreds of photos with which they were filled—views of the park and the woods, of the church and the village, groups of various friends who had stayed at the Castle, photos of Lady Violet's horse and of the two St. Bernard dogs, river scenes and lake scenes, photos taken at all seasons of the year, some with the trees in full leaf, others with bare and naked branches, some showing the broad shadows of a hot summer's day, others taken in snow, with every tree and shrub looking as if it were growing in fairyland.
"They are lovely, Lady Violet," she said, as she laid down the first volume, and took up the one lying on the table.
SHE GAZED A LONG TIME AT THIS PICTURE.
"Oh! Those are foreign views. I don't know whether you will care for them so much. They are in the Riviera chiefly. We were there for a month about two years ago, and had an awfully jolly time."