"I am very grateful to you for your kindness to me," he said, "and I will avail myself of it to think a little before I decide. I shall be selfish enough to hope that your marriage will not happen. We have been going on well--very well. It would be a pity that this pleasant life should be disturbed. I am much obliged to you for your courtesy," he repeated, "and you are very kind to have listened to my plain-speaking so good-naturedly." To this I made some reply, and the subject dropped. "Here," thought I, "is an illustration of the genuine southern character: the warm and sudden humours; the irritable pets and fumes; the querulous misgivings; the effusive gratitude; the morbid distrust. Here too, is a living example of the penalty of thought. The brain of this smart little man has been playing so long and so remorselessly on his nerves, that they have at last grown unfit for use. Coffee and tobacco, too, have done their part, and have converted this sallow being into a bundle of shuddering sensibilities. Because I talk of being in love, because I dare to dream of marrying, he believes that I wish him to be gone. He transforms my hopes into hints; and fearful, perhaps, of a direct dismissal which would convulse his dignity with mortification, and leave his nerves flabby and toneless for ever, he bids me understand that he considers his duties at an end. But he'll get over this pique. Those keen eyes, that pungent tongue, are the harbingers of no silly spirit. He will contrast this house with his attic in Berners Street, this sweet air with the yellow element of London, his meagre meals with his present bountiful repasts, and will discover no urgent necessity to depart. For myself, I doubt if I could better him. Use has fathered one or two angularities, and I find him now not only agreeable, but necessary." But, to be candid, these thoughts did not long trouble me. I had my beautiful neighbour to muse on, and she was an inspiration that fully filled my mind. Three days passed before I saw her again. Martelli had gone to Cliffegate for a walk: I amused myself in the garden. The grounds were now in complete order. In the front the fountain had been repaired and redecorated, and now tossed its pearl-shower in the sun, circling the cool and brimming basin with a rainbow. In the back, the trees hung heavy with fruit. The beds were draped with flowers. The lawn, shorn and trimmed to velvet smoothness, offered a pleasant relief to the eye. I strolled to the end of the grounds and inspected the brilliant _coup d'oeil_. My thoughts went further than I: I wished I could have followed them! "She who loves flowers so well, what would she think of this brilliant show? Were I to ask her to come and see my grounds, would she come?"