“No, something old, but restored. Don’t you remember the last day you were here saying that the silence of this old court wanted the pleasant plash of a fountain? and so I got these disabled nymphs and hamadryads remounted, and set them to blow their conchs and spout the cataracts as of yore.” “How beautiful it all is!” “Curious enough, the figures are really good. Some worthy ancestor of mine had purchased this group at Urbino from some ruined Italian mansion; and, as a work of art, it is almost equal to a Luca della Robb. The mistake is the era. It is not suited to this old dungeon. Here we are in the tenth century, and this group is cinque cento. Let me send it to the cottage. It would be perfect in your garden.” “Not for worlds. I couldn’t think of it!” “Don’t think of it, but say ‘Yes.’ Remember, that in villa ornamentation nothing comes amiss; there are no incongruities.” “It is impossible, Sir Within--quite impossible.” “Don’t imagine we have come here as brigands,” said Miss Courtenay, smiling. “When you carry away my heart, what matters what is left me?” said he, sighing. Miss Courtenay looked down--it was a bashful look, but not a displeased one--and, somehow, more conscious than the compliment of so old a gentleman might seem to warrant. “And so Sir Gervais likes Ireland?” said he, as he introduced them into the drawing-room. “So much so, that I fear he has made a purchase of some property there.” “That is only a mistake when one feels that he must live on the spot he owns. Some witty Frenchman says: ‘I used to fancy that I owned my furniture, but I found that it owned me. I was the bondsman of an old arm-chair, and the actual slave of a chest of drawers!’ You laugh, ladies, but just see whether this old house or I be the master here.” “Well, it’s not a very severe bondage after all,” said Georgina, smiling. “How pleasantly one discusses another’s captivity! By the way, when are you all to come and pay me this long-promised visit? Remember, the longer you defer payment, the larger grows the debt; your week is now a month.” “When Sir Gervais comes home, we shall be delighted.” “Why not be here when he arrives? How much pleasanter he’d find the house where your presence had imparted that charm that comes of female influence. You cannot guess how this old room, that I thought so dreary a while ago, looks positively beautiful now. Yes, Bernais, bring it in.” This was said to the servant, who, after appearing at the door, made a hasty retreat. “It is the _menu_ of our dinner, ladies, and my cook, M. Piquard, wishes to acquit himself with distinction. See, here is a query. ‘Is the pheasant to be “aux huitres,” or aux pointes d’asperges?’ Decide.” “I should say with the asparagus,” said Miss Courtenay.