‘Our English girls are very stupid when they devote all their time to Czerny,’ he answered, ‘to the utter disregard of their domestic surroundings. I’m not going to talk that hackneyed trash which Cobbett brought into fashion, about preferring the art of making puddings to music and literature; but I think it simply natural to a woman of refinement to superintend the arrangements of her home—yes, and to use brooms and dusters, rather than allow resting-place for so much as a drachm of flue or dust. But you talk of our English ladies as a race apart. Are you not English, Miss Sivewright?’ ‘Only on my father’s side, and his mother was a Spanish-American. My mother’ (with a sigh) ‘was a Frenchwoman.’ ‘Ah,’ thought Lucius, ‘it is in such mixed races one finds beauty and genius.’ How pretty she looked in her little muslin cap, adorning but not concealing the rich dark hair! How well the neutral-tinted gown, with its antique simplicity, became her graceful form! ‘Talking of music,’ he said, ‘have you no piano?’ ‘No, I am sorry to say. My grandfather has a prejudice against music.’ ‘Indeed! There are few who care to confess such a singular prejudice.’ ‘Perhaps it is because’—falteringly and trifling nervously with the linen band of her apron—’ because a person with whom he quarrelled long ago was fond of music.’ ‘A somewhat unreasonable reason. And you are thus deprived of even such companionship as you might find in a piano! That seems hard.’ ‘Pray do not blame my grandfather: he is very good to me. I have an old guitar—my mother’s—with which I amuse myself sometimes in my own room, where he can’t hear me. Shall I show you the way to my grandfather’s bedroom? He seldom comes down-stairs till after twelve o’clock.’ Lucius followed her up the broad oak staircase, which at each spacious landing was encumbered with specimens of those ponderous Flemish cabinets and buffets, which would seem to have sprung into being spontaneous as toadstools from the fertile soil of the Low Countries. Then along a dusky corridor, where ancient tapestry and dingy pictures covered the walls, to a door at the extreme end, which she opened. ‘This is grandpapa’s room,’ she said, upon the threshold, and there left him. He knocked at the half-open door, not caring to enter the lion’s den unauthorised. A stern voice bade him ‘Come in.’