Left alone with Lady Errington, Eustace lay back in his deep chair gazing dreamily at her as she sat silent and pensive, fanning herself slowly with an absent expression in her blue eyes. The charm of the scene, the influence of the hour, the presence of this pale, beautiful woman, and the delicate fragrance of the flowers which permeated the still air, all touched the poetical part of his nature, and he could not help wondering in his own mind how such a spiritual nature as that of Alizon Errington's could tolerate such a matter-of-fact man as her husband, who could leave her so calmly to talk sport with a shallow-minded boy. In this, however, Eustace Gartney was entirely wrong, as love is not to be measured by sentimental talk or silent adoration, and a man who loves a woman in an honest respectful fashion does not need to be constantly on his knees to prove the sincerity of his passion. But then Eustace, who believed in this exaggerated fashion of love-making, was a poet, and poets have whimsical ways of manifesting their sentiments. From these musings he was aroused by the voice of his hostess, who had suddenly awakened to the fact that Eustace was silent, and feared she had neglected her social duties. "You are singularly silent, Mr. Gartney!" Eustace started suddenly as her voice struck on his ear, and looked idly at her with a vague smile on his lips. "The influence of the hour and the scene, I suppose," he said idly; "one is always silent in Paradise." "I should think that depended upon the absence or presence of Eve," replied Alizon demurely. "Or of the serpent. Confess now, Lady Errington, the serpent was a charming conversationalist." "And a bad companion--for a woman." "No doubt Adam thought so--after the Fall." "What a pity there should have been a Fall," said Lady Errington after a short pause. "It would have been a charming world." "Humph! consisting of what the French call a _solitude à deux_." "Oh, but I was supposing the Garden of Eden became populated. It would have been a world without sin or temptation." "I beg 'your pardon. The trees of knowledge and life would still have been flourishing to tempt the primeval population nor do I suppose the wily serpent would have been wanting." "Satirical, but scarcely true." "Ah, but you see we're both talking the romance of what-might-have-been," said Gartney smiling, "so my view of the subject is no doubt as probable as your own. However this Italian Paradise with all its faults, consequent on our present-day civilization, has exquisite scenery, and if one were to live here for some years I daresay he would arrive at the nearest approach to primeval happiness possible in this world." "I'm afraid we shall not have an opportunity of testing the truth of your assertion. We leave here in a fortnight, for Guy is longing for England and the country." "A nostalgia of the coverts, I presume?" "Exactly! 'It's a fine day, let us go and kill something.'"