McTaggart glanced at his watch.
"Ten minutes more. Are you very tired?"
"Not a bit." Jill turned with a bright face from the window in the corridor where she stood, gazing out. "It's all so lovely. Look at that hill rising up like a fir cone, against the sky. And isn't it blue! I never saw such colouring. Those silvery trees!—Olives, did you say they were? Fancy seeing olives grow!—and oranges and lemons too. It sounds like the game we used to play in our nursery days."
In a low voice, sweet as a thrush:
"Oranges and lemons
Said the bells of St. Clement's,
I owe you four farthings
Said the bells of St. Martin's..."
Jill sang happily.
"Can't say much for the rhymes." McTaggart smiled.
But the girl had turned to the window again. "It's beautiful." She slipped a hand through his
