"Some day!--to-day, Daisy--this very day. Though this is not the season, there must be places worth seeing; museums, exhibitions--" "The streets with the shops, the people, and the great current of life running through them, will entertain me far more than museums or made-up exhibitions." "Why did you not say so sooner?" "Kate dislikes long walks." "But do I?--do I dislike long walks with you, Daisy, in town or country, in lanes or in streets? Is there anything I like better than to please or amuse you?" Without allowing me to thank him, he told me to make haste and get ready. I obeyed, and within an hour, Cornelius and I were walking down Oxford Street. London, according to a figurative mode of speech, was quite empty; that is to say, a few all-important hundreds had taken flight, and left the insignificant thousands behind, just to mind the place in their absence. To me, after the long quietness of Leigh, it looked as gay and crowded as a fair. At once I flew to the shops, like a moth to the light, and Cornelius, with a good humour rare in his sex, not only stood patiently whilst I admired, but kept a sharp look out for every milliner's and linendraper's establishment, saying, eagerly:-- "There's another one, Daisy." But, after a while, I was dazzled with all I saw, deafened with the sound of rolling carriages, bewildered with the unusual aspect of so many people, and glad to take refuge in the Pantheon, with its flowers, its birds, its statues, its pictures, its fanciful stalls, and its profusion of those graceful knick-knacks which have ever been, and ever will be, the delights of a truly feminine heart. We had entered this pretty place by Great Marlborough Street. Cornelius began by buying me a beautiful, but most extravagant bouquet, which I had been imprudent enough to admire, and did not like to refuse. As we loitered about, I looked at one of the birds in the cages around the little fountain, and praised its glowing plumage. "Have it," eagerly said Cornelius, and his purse was out directly. "No, indeed," I quickly replied, "I do not like birds in cages." "Well, then, have one of those squirrels." "I will have nothing alive. And I will not have a plant either," I added, detecting the look he cast at the expensive flowers around us. I compelled him to put back his purse; but as we went on, and inspected the stalls, I bad to entreat add argue him out of buying me, first a vase of magnificent wax flowers; then a _papier-mach?_ table, and thirdly, some costly china. No sooner did my eye chance to light with pleasure on anything, than he insisted on giving it to me. At length, I told him he spoiled all my enjoyment. He asked, with a dissatisfied air, if I was too proud to accept anything from him. I assured him I had no such feeling, and that he might buy me something before we went home, if such was his fancy. "What?" he asked, with a look of mistrust.