The following afternoon, on wings again, I flew to the temple which enshrined my divinity. Miss Langdale was at home. I had of course inquired for the elder lady. I was conducted up the broad staircase to an elegant drawing-room, its four French windows opening upon a spacious verandah, which pleasantly shaded this luxuriously furnished apartment. A grand-piano and harp testified to the musical tastes of the family. But there was little time for observation, as Miss Langdale entered the room almost immediately. She was very gracious in her welcome; but that could not make up to me for the absence of her charming niece. ‘I am sorry,’ observed the placid lady, as if stating a very unimportant fact, ‘that my niece is not at home; it is the day for her riding-lesson, and unfortunately she has but just gone.’ I could scarcely conceal my bitter disappointment sufficiently to make a conventional reply: ‘I was of course fortunate to have found one of the ladies at home in so fine a day, &c.’ There was no difficulty in ‘getting on,’ as it is called, with Miss Langdale: the inevitable subject of the weather was disposed of at once; politics occupied almost as short a time; church matters were settled as briefly; in short every conceivable topic was touched upon before I had an opportunity of leading the conversation to the niece. ‘I have two nieces under my charge,’ said Miss Langdale—‘Lilian, whom you have seen; the younger still a child at school; also a nephew, who I assure you is more trouble than both the girls together; but I am happy to say my brother has now sent him abroad with a tutor, so we must hope he will return much improved.’ The voluble lady then proceeded to inform me that Mr Langdale had lost his wife when ‘Rosa’ was born, and that she, the aunt, had resided with the family ever since—a period of ten years. ‘So I have had the entire charge of the children, and now look upon them as my own,’ she added. ‘The niece I have had the pleasure of seeing,’ I observed, ‘does infinite credit to her training; I think her perfectly charming.’ ‘I am very glad to hear you say so,’ said Miss Langdale; ‘it is certainly the general opinion, and I naturally like to think so myself; but it is possible I may be blinded by partiality. To me, Lilian appears guileless as a child with the sense of a woman, a combination which makes her manners very fascinating. But she is really almost too fearless; I never met with a girl with so much self-reliance.’ Longing to hear more, yet not feeling at liberty to ask questions, I merely murmured some commonplace truism about a ‘noble quality.’ ‘So it is,’ replied the sedate aunt, ‘when not carried too far; that journey, for instance. I positively shudder when I think of a girl like Lily, brought up as she has been, undertaking it quite alone.’ ‘With the exception of’——I stammered.