d he, coloring slightly as he
spoke.

"First tell me if I have not read you aright? You like this quiet,
dreamy landscape. You want no other changes than in the varying effects
of cloud, and shadow, and mist; and you 'd like to think this a little
haven against the storms and shipwrecks of life?"

"And if I really did think all this, would my choice of an existence be
a very bad one, Julia?"

"No. Not if one could insure the same frame of mind in which first he
tasted the enjoyment. I, for instance, like what is called the world
very much. I like society, life, and gayety. I like the attentions, I
like the flatteries one meets with, but if I could be always as happy,
always as tranquil as we have felt since we came here, I 'd be quite
willing to sign a bond to live and die here."

"So that you mean our present enjoyment of the place could not last."

"I am sure it could not. I am sure a great deal of the pleasure we now
feel is in the relief of escaping from the turmoil and bustle of a world
that we don't belong to. The first sense of this relief is repose, the
next would be ennui."

"I don't agree with you, Julia. There is a calm acceptance of a humble
lot in life, quite apart from ennui."

"Don't believe it. There is no such philosophy. A great part of your
happiness here is in fact that you can afford to live here. Oh, hold up
your hands, and be horrified. It is very shocking to have a sister who
will say such vulgar things, but I watched you, George, after you paid
the bill this morning, and I marked the delighted smile in which you
pointed out some effect of light on the 'Sentis,' and I said to myself,
'It is the landlord has touched up the landscape.'"

"I declare, Julia, you make me angry. Why will you say such things?"

"Why are we so poor, George? Tell me that, brother mine. Why are we so
poor?"

"There are hundreds as poor; thousands poorer."

"Perhaps they don't care, don't fret about it, don't dwell on all the
things they are debarred from, don't want this or that appliance to make
life easier. Now look there! what a difference in one's existence to
travel that way."

As she spoke, she pointed to a travelling-carriage which swept over the
bridge, with all the speed of four posters, and, with all the clatter of
cracking whips and sounding horns, made for the inn of the village.

"How few travel with post now, in these days of railroad," said he, not
sorry to turn the conversation into another