How well I remember the philosophic contempt for wealth with which I awoke the following morning! Here, I thought, is grace, refinement, and good breeding, in unpretending guise, the very simplicity that surrounds them seems to give additional force to their effect--nothing appears out of place, no London bred cook or butler ever turned out a more delicious or better served repast, than Vernon's dinner yesterday. What is the magic of all this? Winter is a curious specimen of humanity, yet he filled up his niche in the little party as no one else could; nor can I fancy him out of his element in any society. What an extraordinary contrast between Kate and that little deformed organist! Unfortunate creature, and yet he appears perfectly happy! With what _empressement_ the old Colonel and his sweet granddaughter welcome him. And Kate herself, there is so much happiness in the calm repose of her countenance, and her brilliant smile; one would imagine her to be of fortune's favourites, the most favoured, yet what a life of complete retirement she must lead. She said she had not worn an evening dress for two years, till at that lucky ball. Is her society made up of a brace and a half of oddities and a big dog? I wonder how my sister Mary or Lady Georgina Lorton, or fifty others of my acquaintance, would stand such a life. They talk of a couple of months at the family seat, as if it was a life-long banishment on some desolate island. Yes, it must be a terrible life for her, cut off from all the _bienséances_ of society--but where could I have spent so pleasant an evening? Where else have been so little bored by hacknied conversation? Thus I wandered through the vast field of speculation, opened up to my imagination by my yesterday's adventure. I could not bring myself to compassionate Vernon for his evident change of fortune, such a companionship and such a cottage must be well worth Dungar with all its beauties. Though, to be sure, he would have had Kate there; her manner, too, so unlike that of most women I had met. It never appeared to challenge admiration or to expect _les petits soins_; all was frank, cordial, kindly, real, yet monstrously unflattering to one's _amour propre_; though at times there was a tinge of coquetry in her way of evading, or turning into ridicule any attempt at a compliment. She certainly is charming, and I must make the best of my time while I am here; I suppose I must return to-morrow, so-- "Mr. Winter"--said the waiter. "Good morning, Captain Egerton," said that worthy personage, apparently through a thicker stratum of mashed potatoes than ever, "I thought I'd catch you before you started on any explorations." "You are very good; I am particularly fortunate in securing such a cicerone." "I am very happy to be of any use to you; sketching, I fancy, is not a common taste among men of your profession?"