‘But,’ pleaded Ernest, ‘I am a tolerable pedestrian; many a pleasant walking tour I have had in England, and indeed on the Continent. Is there any danger?’ ‘None, that I am aware of—but I would certainly advise you to get a horse, or a couple; they are cheap enough here.’ ‘You won’t be offended if I say that I really prefer walking. It is a capital thing in many ways; and I shall not get a chance of seeing Australian life without conventional spectacles so easily again perhaps.’ ‘Please yourself, then,’ said Mr. Frankston; ‘I am very much in favour of letting people alone, particularly in unimportant matters; you will find out for yourself, I daresay, why I advised you to commence your journey on the outside of a good horse. You won’t take any more wine? Then we’ll go and get a cup of coffee from Antonia.’ They found that young lady ensconced in a large cane chair upon the balcony in front of the drawing-room, gazing dreamily over the dark glimmering waters. ‘You will find coffee on that round table, Mr. Neuchamp; and you, papa, will find your cigar-case on that ledge. Mr. Neuchamp, if you like to smoke, pray do so; I have no dislike to it in the open air.’ Mr. Neuchamp did not smoke. He held it to be a waste of time, of money, of brain-power; leading likewise to a false content with circumstances, with which the true man should wage ceaseless warfare. So he brought his chair near to that of Miss Frankston, and as the old gentleman lighted his cigar and leaned back in much comfort at some distance, he felt fully disposed for a little æsthetic talk. ‘What a glorious night,’ he remarked, ‘with this faint fresh sea-breeze! how grand the effect of the darkly bright water, the burning stars, and this superb cloudless heaven!’ ‘It is so indescribably glorious,’ made answer Miss Frankston, ‘that I feel incensed with myself for not delighting in it more freshly and intensely. But it is thus with all familiar marvels that one has seen all one’s life.’ ‘All one’s life?’ repeated he. ‘I was born in this house,’ said she simply, ‘and have sat on a chair like this, and gazed on the sea, as we are doing now, when I was a small lonely child.’ ‘Oh! dreamy and luxurious southerner,’ laughed he. ‘A life of lotus-eating! Has it affected the tenor of your mind with any indisposition to exertion or change?’ ‘As far as I can pretend to know, it has had the reverse tendency in my case. I have always had a passionate desire to travel. I am my father’s own daughter in that respect, he says.’ ‘And where has Mr. Frankston chiefly been?’ ‘Where has he not been? When he was young he managed to get away to sea, and roamed about the world splendidly; he has been to New Zealand, of course; all over the South Sea Islands; besides having travelled to England and the Continent, the East and West Indies, Russia, America, China, and Japan.’ ‘You quite take my breath away. Your papa is a perfect Marco Polo. But why should he have gone to England?’