"Aren't you hungry, old chap?" asked Gerald, as he came into the garden. "Rather," retorted Ronald; "I was wondering when you were going to turn up." "Hungry!" said Foster, raising his eyes, "and he says he's in love--oh, Cupid! what a worshipper you've got!" Ronald laughed, and put his hand on Foster's shoulder. "My dear lad," he said, quietly, "love is the least of my troubles. I want to see Carmela free from all this annoyance and then----" "And then," repeated Foster, as they walked towards the breakfast-room. "You'll see as true a lover as ever sighed his soul out to a midnight pillow," laughed Ronald; "now come and have some breakfast, I'm starving." "What time do you think our friend will arrive?" asked Foster, as they sat down to the table. "Oh, about three, I should imagine," said Ronald, attacking a fried sole, with a good appetite. "I wonder what the deuce she wants to see me about?" "Humph! that's a puzzler," said the barrister, lightly; "but I don't think I'm far wrong when I say it will be all about Vassalla." Ronald laughed, and went on with his breakfast. He was singularly light-hearted, this young man, because an idea had entered his mind that all would yet be well. If it were not for hope and sanguine expectations, where would our pleasure in the future be? They finished their breakfast, and then went out for a walk; saw the house where Shelley lived, on which is a tablet, erected by Sir William Clayton, and interviewed the landlady of the hotel into which a portion of the place is turned. "Don't remember 'im," said the landlady, when they asked about the poet; "I think he was afore my time." "And this is fame!" ejaculated Foster, when they left. "Shelley isn't even remembered by name;" and he began to spout Horace, when Ronald stopped him. "Don't be classical, old chap; but look at these old parties." The old parties consisted of two old women, who informed the gentlemen that they were each eighty years old, and had never been out of the town. So Ronald gave them each a shilling, and walked away with his friend. "I daresay they are much happier than we are," he said, sighing. "Better to be a butterfly, and enjoy life for a day, than a tortoise, and sleep out a hundred years," said Foster, sapiently; "depend upon it, life is made up of quality, not quantity." They strolled down to Marlow Church, and then to that tumble-down heap of cottages immortalized by Fred. Walker, the picturesque aspect of which struck Ronald very strongly. "I don't know much about pictures," said the Australian, frankly, "and I haven't the eye of an artist, but I do admire these mellow-tinted roofs, so different from the galvanized tin of the colonies."