He. “Don't pride yourself on your safety unless you wish to see me transformed into a nineteenth-century Romeo, to the detriment of Mrs. Bobby's creepers. I can look at you for ever, dear, in your pink gown and your purple frame, unless I can do better. Won't you come down?” I. “I like it very much up here.” He. “You would like it very much down here, after a little. So you didn't 'paint me out,' after all?” I. “No; on the contrary, I painted you in, to every twig and flower, every hill and meadow, every sunrise and every sunset.” He. “You MUST come down! The distance between Belvern and Aix when I was not sure that you loved me was nothing compared to having you in a second story when I know that you do. Come down, Pen! Pretty Pen!” I. “Suppose we compromise. My sitting-room is just below; will you walk in and look at my sketches until I come? You needn't ring; the bell is overgrown with honeysuckle and there is no one to answer it; it might almost be an American hotel, but it is Arcadia!” He. “It is Paradise; and alas! here comes the serpent!” I. “It isn't a serpent; it is the kindest landlady in England.--Mrs. Bobby, this gentleman is a dear friend of mine from America. Mr. Beresford, this is Mrs. Bobby, the most comfortable hostess in the world, and the owner of the cottage, the canaries, the tea-tables, and the baby.--The reason Mr. Beresford was so thirsty, Mrs. Bobby, was that he has walked here from Great Belvern, so we must give him some supper before he returns.” Mrs. B. “Certainly, miss, he shall have the best in the 'ouse, you can depend upon that.” He. “Don't let me interfere with your usual arrangements. I am not hungry--for food; I shall do very well until I get back to the hotel.” I. “Indeed you will not, sir! Billy shall pull some tomatoes and lettuce, Tommy shall milk the cow, and Mrs. Bobby shall make you a savory omelet that Delmonico might envy. Hark! Is that our fowl cackling? It is,--at half-past six! She heard me mention omelet and she must be calling, 'Now I lay me down to sleep.'” . . . . But all that is many days ago, and there are no more experiences to relate at present. We are making history very fast, Willie Beresford and I, but much of it is sacred history, and so I cannot chronicle it for any one's amusement. Mrs. Beresford is here, or at least she is in Great Belvern, a few miles distant. I am not painting, these latter days. I have turned the artist side of my nature to the wall just for a bit, and the woman side is having full play. I do not know what the world will think about it, if it stops to think at all, but I feel as if I were 'right side out' for the first time in my life; and when I take up my brushes again, I shall have a new world within from which to paint,--yes, and a new world without.