certainly some considerations that might make me resolve on
an English winter,' said Lord St. Erme.

'Every consideration, I should think.'

'Fogs and frosts, and clouds, that hang like a weight on the whole
frame,' said Lord St. Erme, shivering.

'Healthy, freshening mists, and honest vigorous frosts to brace one for
service,' said Theodora, smiling.

'O, Miss Martindale!' cried Lady Lucy, entering, 'are you persuading St.
Erme to stay all the year in England? I do so wish he would.'

'Then you ought to make him,' said Theodora.

'If Miss Martindale were to express a wish or opinion--'

She saw it was time to cut him short. 'Every one's opinion must be the
same,' she said.

'O,' cried Lucy, 'of course Italy is pleasanter. It is selfish to
wish to keep him here; but if I had my will, we would live together at
Wrangerton, and have such nice poor people.'

'A "chateau en Espagne" indeed, my little sister. Wrangerton is a most
forlorn place, an old den of the worst period of architecture, set down
just beyond the pretty country, but in the programme of all the tourists
as a show place; the third-rate town touching on the park, and your nice
poor people not even the ordinary English peasantry, but an ill-disposed
set of colliers.'

Theodora looked, but did not speak.

'Miss Martindale thinks me a laggard, but she hears my excuse.'

'If they are ill-disposed,' said Theodora, in her low, severe voice
(she could not help it), 'it is for want of influence from the right
quarter.'

'My agent tells me they are perfectly impracticable.'

'Knights of old liked something impracticable.' She was almost ready
to check herself; but there was something inspiriting in the idea of
awakening this youth, who seemed to catch at her words as if she were a
damsel sending forth a champion. His reply was--

'Those were days worth living for. Then the knight's devoir was poetry
in real life.'

'Devoir is always poetry in real life,' said Theodora. 'What is it but
the work ready to hand? Shrinking from it is shrinking from the battle.
Come, Lady Lucy, I will not detain you.'

Lord St. Erme seemed about to say something as he shook hands, but it
did not come. The walk was passed by the simple-hearted Lucy discoursing
of the events by which she counted her eras, namely, his visits. Her
perfect brother was her only theme.

CHAPTER 20

Yet learn the gamut of Hortensio.

--Taming of the Shrew

Mrs. Nesbit