The Third Window

"I LOVE this window," said Antonia, walking down the drawing-room; "and this one. They both look over the moors, you see. This view is even lovelier." She stopped at the end of the long room, and the young man with the pale face and the limping step followed and looked out of the third window with her. "But-I don't know why-I hate it. I wish it weren't here." Captain Saltonhall looked out and said nothing. "I wonder if you see what I mean," said Antonia. "No; I don't. I like it." The young man spoke gently and with something of a drawl, unimpressed, apparently, by her antipathy and putting up the back of a placid forefinger to stroke along the edge of his moustache. "One gets the hills, peaceful and silvery; one gets the walled garden and the cedar," she enumerated. "The little pond with its fountain is as serene as a happy dream. It's all like a happy dream. Yet-I wish there weren't this window here."