‘Do you mean the Isle of Wight? It lifts up just before rain, and we see it from the Downs.’ ‘Very likely. Our Villa’s on the South edge of the Island, by the Broken Cliffs. Most of it is three hundred years old, but the cow-stables, where our first ancestor lived, must be a hundred years older. Oh, quite that, because the founder of our family had his land given him by Agricola at the Settlement. It’s not a bad little place for its size. In spring-time violets grow down to the very beach. I’ve gathered sea-weeds for myself and violets for my Mother many a time with our old nurse.’ ‘Was your nurse a—a Romaness too?’ ‘No, a Numidian. Gods be good to her! A dear, fat, brown thing with a tongue like a cowbell. She was a free woman. By the way, are you free, maiden?’ ‘Oh, quite,’ said Una. ‘At least, till tea-time; and in summer our governess doesn’t say much if we’re late.’ The young man laughed again—a proper understanding laugh. ‘I see,’ said he. ‘That accounts for your being in the wood. _We_ hid among the cliffs.’ ‘Did _you_ have a governess, then?’ ‘Did we not? A Greek, too. She had a way of clutching her dress when she hunted us among the gorze-bushes that made us laugh. Then she’d say she’d get us whipped. She never did, though, bless her! Aglaia was a thorough sportswoman, for all her learning.’ ‘But what lessons did you do—when—when you were little!’ ‘Ancient history, the Classics, arithmetic, and so on,’ he answered. ‘My sister and I were thickheads, but my two brothers (I’m the middle one) liked those things, and, of course, Mother was clever enough for any six. She was nearly as tall as I am, and she looked like the new statue on the Western Road—the Demeter of the Baskets, you know. And funny! Roma Dea! How Mother could make us laugh!’ ‘What at?’ ‘Little jokes and sayings that every family has. Don’t you know?’ ‘I know _we_ have, but I didn’t know other people had them too,’ said Una. ‘Tell me about all your family, please.’ ‘Good families are very much alike. Mother would sit spinning of evenings while Aglaia read in her corner, and Father did accounts, and we four romped about the passages. When our noise grew too loud the Pater would say, “Less tumult! Less tumult! Have you never heard of a Father’s right over his children? He can slay them, my loves—slay them dead, and the Gods highly approve of the action!” Then Mother would prim up her dear mouth over the wheel and answer: “H’m! I’m afraid there can’t be much of the Roman Father about you!” Then the Pater would roll up his accounts, and say, “I’ll show you!” and then—then, he’d be worse than any of us!’ ‘Fathers can—if they like,’ said Una, her eyes dancing. ‘Didn’t I say all good families are very much the same?’ ‘What did you do in summer?’ said Una. ‘Play about, like us?’ ‘Yes, and we visited our friends. There are no wolves in Vectis. We had many friends, and as many ponies as we wished.’ ‘It must have been lovely,’ said Una. ‘I hope it lasted for ever.’