Ernest and his two sisters walked homeward along the banks of the river, and thence up by a winding path to the top of the cliffs. It was mild weather, and they decided to pause in the little temple of classic design, which some ancient owner of the Drumgarran estate, touched with a desire for the exquisiteness of Greek outline, had built on a promontory of the rocks, among rounded masses of wild foliage; a spot that commanded one of the most beautiful reaches of the river. The scene had something of classic perfection and serenity. "I admit," said Ernest in response to some remark of one of his sisters, "I admit that I should not like to stay here during all the best years of my life, without prospect of widening my experience; only as a matter of fact, the world is somewhat different from anything that you imagine, and by no means would you find it all beer and skittles. Your smoke and sun-vision is not to be trusted." "But think of the pride and joy of being able to speak in that tone of experience!" exclaimed Hadria mockingly. "One has to pay for experience," said Ernest, shaking his head and ignoring her taunt. "I think one has to pay more heavily for _in_experience," she said. "Not if one never comes in contact with the world. Girls are protected from the realities of life so long as they remain at home, and that is worth something after all." Algitha snorted. "I don't know what you are pleased to call realities, my dear Ernest, but I can assure you there are plenty of unpleasant facts, in this protected life of ours." "Nobody can expect to escape unpleasant facts," said Ernest. "Then for heaven's sake, let us purchase with them something worth having!" Hadria cried. "Hear, hear!" assented Algitha. "Unpleasant facts being a foregone conclusion," Hadria added, "the point to aim at obviously is _interesting_ facts--and plenty of them." Ernest flicked a pebble off the parapet of the balustrade of the little temple, and watched it fall, with a silent splash, into the river. "I never met girls before, who wanted to come out of their cotton-wool," he observed. "I thought girls loved cotton-wool. They always seem to." "Girls _seem_ an astonishing number of things that they are not," said Hadria, "especially to men. A poor benighted man might as well try to get on to confidential terms with the Sphinx, as to learn the real thoughts and wishes of a girl." "You two are exceptional, you see," said Ernest.