"True, true," he replied, "yet I am very happy. Then, at my age, a placid routine, unexciting, and calm, is naturally congenial; I sometimes wish for a little more fellow-feeling on particular points than Winter or even Gilpin can offer me. Kate is generally a great sympathiser, but I confess, my dear Egerton, that a little chat with you on old times and topics does me infinite good." "Captain Egerton says he will come back soon again, grandpapa, and bring me some sketches he has of dear Dungar." "A treasure trove, Kate! But must you leave us so immediately?" "I regret to say my leave expires to-morrow evening; I must return to Carrington, but will take the last train, half-past eight I think; and now I will say good-bye until this evening, Colonel. I want to get a few more outlines into my portfolio before Mrs. Winter's hot cakes are ready. _Au revoir_, Miss Vernon." The Colonel and Cormac accompanied me to the door, which Nurse opened with a gracious smile. "Not a step further, Colonel Vernon, you are fatigued; Mrs. O'Toole, I commend the Colonel to your care, adieu." And as I walked away I heard confused and glowing eulogiums pronounced by Mrs. O'Toole on some person or persons unknown, in which she seemed to dwell particularly on the facility of distinguishing between "The rale ould ancient stock, and ye'r musherooms," terms of approbation my vanity somehow or other appropriated, though the connection was by no means clear. With military punctuality I was raising the well burnished brass knocker which adorned Winter's door as the cathedral clock chimed six. A trim little damsel answered the summons, and informed me with a rather frightened air, that "Missis was in." She ushered me up stairs to a large, handsomely furnished room, where sat Mrs. Winter in the identical cap she had worn at the ball. I could have sworn to it in any court in the kingdom. She received me with the slight nervousness of manner I had before observed, but we had hardly exchanged salutations when Winter appeared, and carried me off to his studio. "While there was any light," he said, "it was well worth a visit." Studies of trees in every season, architectural drawings of great beauty, rugged old men and women, rosy chubby children, some few strong deep subjects--a mine of pictorial wealth; and the grand characteristic of each and all was truth; nothing seemed beneath his pencil, nor a single object misplaced on his canvas. I felt that a glance at his studio revealed the man more than the most elaborate description of his character could have done. I began to understand his views of imagination.