"I think I'll call and see Miss Sheldon," observed Alizon, after a pause, "for, as she is a ward of your Aunt's, I shall very likely see a good deal of her. Are the people she is with pleasant?" "That," observed Eustace calmly, "depends greatly on individual taste. The Honourable Henry Trubbles is the most egotistical specimen of misshapen humanity I have ever met with, and his wife, whom he married for her money, is a modern edition of Mrs. Malaprop with a dash of Sary Gamp and a flavouring of the Sleeping Beauty." "What a mixed description," said Errington laughing. "How does she resemble the Sleeping Beauty?" "Only in sleeping." "You make me quite curious to see her," cried Alizon smiling. "And if--well, I won't promise anything about what I intended yet." "What did you intend?" asked her husband. "To have a small dinner party, and give Mr. Macjean a real English dinner, but I'll first see how I like this extraordinary couple, and then--well, we'll see." "It would be awfully jolly," said Otterburn, whose stock of adjectives was limited. "I know it's 'awfully' late," remarked Eustace, in a tone of rebuke, "and we have just time to get back to dinner." "To what they call a dinner." "It's better than nothing at all events--well, goodbye, Lady Errington; thank you for a pleasant afternoon." "Don't forget your way to the Villa Tagni," said Alizon as she shook hands, and the two gentlemen, having vowed warmly that they would not, made their adieux, leaving Sir Guy and his wife alone on the terrace. "Well, Alizon," said Errington, jocularly, "and what do you think of my cousin, Eustace?" "I think," replied Lady Errington slowly, "that he is the most unhappy man I ever met with in my life." CHAPTER V. AN AUSTRALIAN GIRL. "Charming, no doubt, her face is fair. As dark as night, her curling hair, Her eyes--two stars, her lips--a rose, Whoever saw a prettier nose? Charming indeed,--but Fate to vex, Has given her faults like all her sex, Believe me, she's not worth regret, She'll break your heart, the vain coquette." What a number of charming old romances begin at an inn. Did not M. Gil Blas commence his adventurous career by being swindled in one? and Don Quixote, blinded by fanatic chivalry, mistake the inns for mediæval castles? Tom Jones became involved in a network of intrigue at a hostelry; the heroes of Dumas invariably meet their enemies of King and Cardinal at the same place, while Boccaccio generally brings about the complications of gallant and donzella at some gay Florentine "osteria." Without doubt all the elements of romance are to be found at these resting places of man and beast; and the most incongruous characters, the most dissimilar ranks of society's adventurers, gallants, priests, bona robas and virtuous ladies all pass and repass, enter and exeunt, under the hospitable signs of inns.