Sir William declared he had never seen his equal,--such temper, such tact, such resources in difficulty, such patience under all trials. May pronounced him charming. He could obtain something eatable in the veriest desolation, he could extract a laugh out of disasters that seemed to defy drollery; and, lastly, Mrs. Morris herself averred “that he was unlike every old Indian she had ever seen, for he seemed not to know what selfishness meant,--but so, indeed, 'poor Penthony' had always described him.” And here she would wipe her eyes and turn away in silence. As they rolled along the road, many a little scheme was devised for detaining him at Rome, many a little plot laid for making him pass the carnival with them. Little knew they the while, how, seated in the rumble close behind, he too revolved the self-same thoughts, asking himself by what means he could secure so pleasant a harbor of refuge. Will it not occasionally occur in life that some of those successes on which we pride ourselves have been in a measure prepared by others, and that the adversary has helped us to win the game we are so vain of having scored? “Well, how do you like them?” said Mrs. Morris, as she smoked her cigarette at the end of the little garden at Viterbo, after Sir William and May had said good-night,--“how do you like them, pa?” “They 're wonderful,--they 're wonderful!” said the Captain, puffing his weed. “It's a long time since I met anything so fresh as that old Baronet.” “And with all that,” said she, “his great vanity is to think he knows 'the world.'” “So he may, my dear. I can only say it is n't _your_ world nor _mine_,” replied he, laughing. “And yet there is a class in which such men as he are the clever ones, where their remarks are listened to and their observations treasured, and where old ladies in turbans and bird-of-paradise feathers pronounce them 'such well-informed men.' Isn't that the phrase, pa?” “Yes, that's the phrase. An old article of the 'Quarterly' committed to memory, some of Dr. Somebody's predictions about the end of the world, and Solomon's proverbs done into modern English, make a very well- informed man.” “And a most insupportable bore, besides. After all, papa,” said she, “it is in the landlocked creeks, the little waveless bays, that one must seek his anchorage, and not in the breezy roadsteads nor the open ocean. I've thought over the matter a good deal lately, and I believe that to be the wise choice.” “You are right, Loo,” said he; “ease is the great thing,--ease and security! What settlement can he make?” “A small one; just enough to live on. The son would be better in that respect, but then I should n't like it; and, besides, he would live as long as myself,--longer, perhaps,--and you know one likes to have a look forward, though it be ever so far away off.” “Very true,--very true,” said he, with a mild sigh. “And this Miss Leslie,” added he, after a while; “she 'll marry, I suppose?”