person. There was a moment's surprise and hesitation on seeing
him before they rose and welcomed him as usual. When he looked at the
stranger he felt a slight awkwardness himself, which he could not
control. It was Willis; and apparently submitted to the process of
reconversion. Charles was evidently _de trop_, but there was no help for
it; so he shook hands with Willis, and accepted the pressing call of
Bateman to seat himself at table, and to share their bread and cheese.

Charles sat down opposite Willis, and for a while could not keep his
eyes from him. At first he had some difficulty in believing he had
before him the impetuous youth he had known two years and a half before.
He had always been silent in general company; but in that he was
changed, as in everything else. Not that he talked more than was
natural, but he talked freely and easily. The great change, however, was
in his appearance and manner. He had lost his bloom and youthfulness;
his expression was sweeter indeed than before, and very placid, but
there was a thin line down his face on each side of his mouth; his
cheeks were wanting in fulness, and he had the air of a man of thirty.
When he entered into conversation, and became animated, his former self
returned.

"I suppose we may all admire this cream at this season," said Charles,
as he helped himself, "for we are none of us Devonshire men."

"It's not peculiar to Devonshire," answered Campbell; "that is, they
have it abroad. At Rome there is a sort of cream or cheese very like it,
and very common."

"Will butter and cream keep in so warm a climate?" asked Charles; "I
fancied oil was the substitute."

"Rome is not so warm as you fancy," said Willis, "except during the
summer."

"Oil? so it is," said Campbell; "thus we read in Scripture of the
multiplication of the oil and meal, which seems to answer to bread and
butter. The oil in Rome is excellent, so clear and pale; you can eat it
as milk."

"The taste, I suppose, is peculiar," observed Charles.

"Just at first," answered Campbell; "but one soon gets used to it. All
such substances, milk, butter, cheese, oil, have a particular taste at
first, which use alone gets over. The rich Guernsey butter is too much
for strangers, while Russians relish whale-oil. Most of our tastes are
in a measure artificial."

"It is certainly so with vegetables," said Willis; "when I was a boy I
could not eat beans, spinach, asparagus, parsnips, and I think some