Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-07-31

had vanished, and the wonderful light on
the sea drew me out of DOORS
my dear Cynthia
well, 90 on; that sounds like the be-
ginning of a letter.
Mrs Devar suddenly determined not to
feel scandalized. "Ah, we'll" she sighed,
lone must relax little when touring; but
you Americans have such free and easy
manners that we staid Britons are apt to lose
our breath occasionally when we hear of
something out of the common
From what Fitzroy said when | told
him was going as far as the pier unaccom-
panied, it seems to me that you stald Brltons
can be freer if not easier retOrted Miss
Vanrenen.
Her friend smiled sourly. eff he dis
approved, he was right, | admit she
purred.
Cynthia withheld further condolences.
What a splendid morning." she said.
ENGLAND is marvelously attractive on a
day like this. And now where is the map?
l didn't look up our route yesterday even
ing. But Fitzroy has it. We lunch at Win
chester, l know, and there | see my first
English cathedral. Father advised me to
leave Saint Pauls until l visit it with him.
He says it is the most perfect building in the
world architecturally; but that no one would
realize it unless the facts were pointed
out. When we were in Rome he said that
Saint Peters, grad as it is, was all wrong in
construction. The thrust downward from
the dome is false, it seems"
"Really?" said Mrs. Devar, who had just
caught sight of Lady Somebody or Other at
the window of a house in Hove, and hoped
that her Ladyships eyes were sufficiently
good to distinguish at least one occupant of
the car.
"Yes, and Sir Christopher Wren mixed
beams of oak with the stonework of his pill
lars too 1t gave them strength, he be-
lieved though Michelangelo had probably
never heard of such a thing
You don't say SOL"
The other woman had travelled far on
similar conversational counters They
would have failed with Cynthia; but the
girl had opened the map, and talk Jagged for
the moment.
7 EAVING the coast at Shoreham, Meden-
- ham turned the car northward at Bran
Der, with its stone rooted cottages gilded
with lichen, its tiny gardens gay with flow
ers, and the ruins of its twelfth century cas-
tie frowning from the crest of an elm clothed
hill. Two miles to the northwest they came
upon ancient Steyning, now sleepy coun-
try town, but of greater Importance than
Bath or Birmingham or Southampton in the
days of the Confessor, and redolent of the
past by reason of its church, with an early
Norman chancel, its houses bearing stone
holdings and window mullions of the Eliza
bethan period, and its quaint street names,
such as Dog Lane, Sheep-pen Street. and
Chantry Green, where two martyrs were
burnt.
Thence the way lay through the leafy
wonderland of West Sussex, when the Mer-
curry crept softly through Midhurst and
Petersfeld into Hampshire and SO to Win
chester, where Cynthia, enraptured with the
cathedral, used up whole reel of films, and
bought some curios carved out of oak i'm
bedded in the walls when the Conqueror
held England in his firm grip.
They had luncheon at a genuine old coach
ing house on the main street, and Medenham
persuaded the girl to turn aside from Sails
bury in order to pass through the heart of
the New Forest. She sat with him in front
then, and their talk dealt more with the
magnificent scenery than with personal mat
tiers until they reached Ringwood, where
they halted for tea.
BEFORE alighting at the inn there she
- asked him where he meant to STAY in