"God bless my soul, child I don't go through a list of my nephew's virtues. I know them already, and from the best authority--himself. When he returns from this tree place--what do you call it?--Cyprus--yes, I knew it had something to do with a tree. Well, when he returns, I hope he'll be improved--there's room for it, great room. Guy, when do you go down to Denfield?" "To-morrow, aunt." "That's sensible. Errington Hall needs a master's eyes. I don't believe in absenteeism myself. If I had my way--which I'm not likely to have, because it's too sensible--I'd pack all landlords back to their estates in the country instead of letting them waste their money in London." "But what would London do without them?" asked Alizon, much amused at this new view of the subject. "Much better," retorted Aunt Jelly, sharply. "In my young days, before steam and electricity upset everything, people stayed in their own houses. But now everyone comes up to London. A cake's no good if the currants are all in one place. Scatter them, and it's an improvement." "There's a good deal of truth in what you say," remarked Alizon, quietly. "If literary men and musicians, for instance, made little centres of art and letters all over the three kingdoms, it would be more beneficial in every way than centralising everything in London." "Literature! Bah!" said Miss Corbin, with scorn; "milk-and-water novels about religion and society, bilious essays, and fault-finding critics--that's what you call literature now-a-days. As for music, I don't know much about it. 'The Maiden's Prayer' and the 'Battle of Prague' were thought good enough when I was young. But now it's all systems and theories, and what they call sixths and sevenths. A very good name, too," concluded the old lady, grimly, "for the whole lot of them do seem at sixes and sevens." "Ah! you see, everything is improving," said Guy, meekly, not having any idea about what he was talking, but only making a vain endeavour to stay Aunt Jelly's rancorous tongue. "It's more than manners are," replied the old lady, tartly. "Minnie, don't twiddle your fingers so. It annoys me. Humph! so you're going down to Errington to play the Lord of the Manor and your wife Lady Bountiful. Mind you take care of yourself, my dear; the mists down there are very bad for the throat." "I don't think they are bad, Aunt Jelly," expostulated Guy, indignant that she should try to prejudice Alizon against her future home.