below such faint praise. It was doubtful whether she would be said to have charm, but she had individuality, since those terms are in common use to express gifts which escape definition. A short silence followed her somewhat indignant speech. Then, the road being still clear before her, she turned and looked at Lawrence. It was not a mere glance of enquiry, it was certainly not a tender glance, but her eyes lingered with his for a moment. "Look here--are we going to quarrel?" she asked. "Is there any reason why we should?" Lawrence smiled. "Not if we agree," answered the young girl, gravely, as she turned her head from him again. "That means that we shan't quarrel if I agree with you, I suppose," observed the young man. "Well, why shouldn't you?" asked Fanny, frankly. "You may just as well, you know. You will in the end." "By Jove! You seem pretty sure of that!" Lawrence laughed. Fanny said nothing in reply, but shortened the reins as the horses reached the top of the hill. Lawrence looked down towards the sea. The sun was very low, and the water was turning from sapphire to amaranth, while the dark islands gathered gold into their green depths. "How beautiful it is!" exclaimed the artist, not exactly from impulse, though in real enjoyment, while consciously hoping that his companion would say something pleasant. "Of course it's beautiful," she answered. "That's why I come here." "I should put it in the opposite way," said Lawrence. "How?" "Why--it's beautiful because you come here." "Oh--that's ingenious! You think it's my mission to beautify landscapes." "I thought that if I said something pretty in the way of a compliment, we shouldn't go on quarrelling." "Oh! Were we quarrelling? I hadn't noticed it." "You said something about it a moment ago," observed Lawrence, mildly. "Did I? You're an awfully literal person. By the bye, you know all the Miss Miners, don't you? I've forgotten." "I believe I do. There's Miss Miner the elder--to begin with--" "The oldest--since there are three," said Fanny, correcting him. "Yes--she's the one with the hair--and teeth." "Yes, and Miss Elizabeth--isn't that her name? The plainest--" "And the nicest. And Augusta--she's the third. Paints wild flowers and plays the piano. She's about my age, I believe." "Your age! Why, she must be over thirty!" "No. She's nineteen, still. She's got an anchor out to windward--against the storm of time, you know. She swings a little with the tide, though." "I don't understand," said Lawrence, to whom nautical language was incomprehensible. "Never mind. I only mean that she does not want to grow old. It's always funny to see a person of nineteen who's really over thirty." Lawrence laughed a little. "You're fond of them all, aren't you?" he asked, presently. "Of course! They're my relations--how could I help being fond of them?" "Oh--yes," answered Lawrence, vaguely. "But they really are very nice--people."