ay think on a subject, but you don't bear no
malice; it ain't a personal question; them's my sentiments. And I don't
know nothing more elevatin', nothing more consolin', than for two public
opponents, as you may say, to meet like this quite cozy and comfortable
over a cup o' tea."

"It is a pleasure, I assure you, which I appreciate highly," said
Reginald, finding his voice.

"And which fills me with delight and satisfaction," said Northcote.
Those stag-beetles which Phoebe, so to speak, had carried in in her
handkerchief, were only too ready to fight.

"You had better have some tea first," she said breathless, "before you
talk so much of its good effects. Sit down, grandpapa, and have your
muffin while it is hot; I know that is what you like. Do you care about
china, Mr. May? but every one cares for china now-a-days. Look at that
cup, and fancy grandmamma having this old service in use without knowing
how valuable it is. Cream Wedgwood! You may fancy how I stared when I
saw it; and in everyday use! most people put it up on brackets, when
they are so lucky as to possess any. Tell Mr. May, grandmamma, how you
picked it up. Mr. Northcote, there is an article in this review that I
want you to look at. Papa sent it to me. It is too metaphysical for me,
but I know you are great in metaphysics--"

"I am greater in china; may not I look at the Wedgwood first?"

"Perhaps you will turn over the literature to me," said Reginald,
"reviews are more in my way than teacups, though I say it with
confusion. I know how much I am behind my age."

"And I too," whispered Phoebe, behind the book which she had taken up.
"Don't tell any one. It is rare, I know; and everybody likes to have
something that is rare; but I don't really care for it the least in the
world. I have seen some bits of Italian _faience_ indeed--but English
pottery is not like Italian, any more than English skies."

"You have the advantage of me, Miss Beecham, both as regards the pottery
and the skies."

"Ah, if it is an advantage; bringing poetry down to prose is not always
an advantage, is it? Italy is such a dream--so long as one has never
been there."

"Yes, it is a dream," said Reginald, with enthusiasm, "to everybody, I
think; but when one has little money and much work all one's
life--poverty stands in the way of all kinds of enjoyment."

"Poverty is a nice friendly sort of thing; a ground we can all meet on,"
said Phoebe. "But don't let us say that to