dsons' veneration
for him. There are high fir-woods and beech woods, and a long ascending
narrow meadow between them, through which a brook falls in continual
cascades. It is the sort of scene I love, for it has a woodland grandeur
and seclusion that leads, me to think, and makes a better girl of me.
But what I said was: 'Yes, it is the place of all others to come and
settle in for the evening of one's days.'

'You could not take to it now?' said Mr. Pollingray.

'Now?' my expression of face must have been a picture.

'You feel called upon to decline such a residence in the morning of your
days?'

He persisted in looking at me as he spoke, and I felt like something
withering scarlet.

I am convinced he saw through me, while his face was polished brass.
My self-possession returned, for my pride was not to be dispersed
immediately.

'Please, take me to the stables,' I entreated; and there I was at home.
There I saw my Prince Leboo, and gave him a thousand caresses.'

'He knows me already,' I said.

Then he is some degrees in advance of me,' said Mr. Pollingray.

Is not cold dissection of one's character a cruel proceeding? And I
think, too, that a form of hospitality like this by which I am invited
to be analysed at leisure, is both mean and base. I have been kindly
treated and I am grateful, but I do still say (even though I may have
improved under it) it is unfair.

To proceed: the dinner hour arrived. The atmosphere of his own house
seems to favour Mr. Pollingray as certain soils and sites favour others.
He walked into the dining-room between us with his hands behind him,
talking to us both so easily and smoothly cheerfully--naturally and
pleasantly--inimitable by any young man! You hardly feel the change
of room. We were but three at table, but there was no lack of
entertainment. Mr. Pollingray is an admirable host; he talks just enough
himself and helps you to talk. What does comfort me is that it gives
him real pleasure to see a hearty appetite. Young men, I know it for
a certainty, never quite like us to be so human. Ah! which is right? I
would not miss the faith in our nobler essence which Charles has.
But, if it nobler? One who has lived longer in the world ought to know
better, and Mr. Pollingray approves of naturalness in everything. I have
now seen through Charles's eyes for several months; so implicitly that
I am timid when I dream of trusting to another's judgement. It is,
however, a fact that I