“Coquetry and French cookery pall upon a man who has lived all his life abroad, and he actually longs for a little plain diet, in manners as well as meals.” “And then you have seen all the pretty acts of our very pretty neighbor so much better done?” “Done by real artists,” added he. “Just so. Amateurship is always a poor thing. This is the way, my Lord. If you will follow me, I will be your guide here; the path here is very slippery, and you must take care how you go.” “When I fall, it shall be at your feet,” said he, with his hand on his heart. As they gained the bottom of the little ravine down which the footpath lay, they found Julia, hoe in hand, at work in the garden before the door. Her dark woollen dress and her straw hat were only relieved in color by a blue ribbon round her throat, but she was slightly flushed by exercise, and a little flurried, perhaps, by the surprise of seeing them, and her beauty, this time, certainly lacked nothing of that brilliancy which Lord Culduff had pronounced it deficient in. “My brother will be so sorry to have missed you, my Lord,” said she, leading the way into the little drawing-room, where, amidst many signs of narrow fortune, there were two or three of those indications which vouch for cultivated tastes and pleasures. “I had told Lord Culduff so much about your cottage, Julia,” said Marion, “that he insisted on coming to see it, without even apprising you of his intention.” “It is just as well,” said she artlessly. “A little more or less sun gives the only change in its appearance. Lord Culduff sees it now as it looks nearly every day.” “And very charming that is,” said he, walking to the window and looking out. And then he asked the name of a headland, and how a small rocky island was called, and on which side lay the village of Portshandon, and at what distance was the church, the replies to which seemed to afford him unmixed satisfaction; for, as he resumed his seat, he muttered several times to himself, “Very delightful indeed; very pleasing in every way!” “Lord Culduff was asking me as he came-along,” said Marion, “whether I thought the solitude--I think he called it the savagery of this spot--was likely to be better borne by one native to such wildness, or by one so graced and gifted as yourself, and I protest he puzzled me.” “I used to think it very lonely when I came here first, but I believe I should be sorry to leave it now,” said Julia, calmly. “There, my Lord,” said Marion, “you are to pick your answer out of that.” “As to those resources which you are so flattering as to call my gifts and graces,” said Julia, laughing, “such of them at least as lighten the solitude were all learned here, I never took to gardening before; I never fed poultry.” “Oh, Julia! have mercy on our illusions!” “You must tell me what they are, before I can spare them. The curate's sister has no claim to be thought an enchanted princess.”