emperament, than of aught else, and the more
as hour by hour it steals over me. Yesterday a letter, which once would
have interested me deeply, lay half read till evening; to-day, a very
old friend of my guardian's, Sir Gordon Howard, has left his card: he is
ill the inn, perhaps in the next room, and I have not energy to return
his visit and chat with him over friends I am never to see again. And
yet he is a gallant old officer,--one of that noble class of Englishmen
whose loyalty made the boldest feats of daring, the longest years of
servitude, seem only as a duty they owed their sovereign. The race is
dying out fast.

What can have brought him to Italy? Let me see. Here is the Traveller's
Book; perhaps it may tell something.

"Sir Gordon Howard, Officier Anglais,"--simple enough for a
Major-general and K.C.B. and G.C.H.--"de Zurich a Como." Not much to be
learned from that. But stay! he is not alone. "Mademoiselle Howard." And
who can she be? He never had a daughter, and his only son is in India.
Perhaps she is a grandaughter; but what care I? It is but another reason
to avoid seeing him. I cannot make new acquaintances now. He wants no
companions who must travel the road I am going! Antoine must tell me
when Sir Gordon Howard goes out, and I'll leave my card then. I feel I
must remain here to-day, and I am well content to do so. This calm lake,
these bold mountains, the wooded promontory of Bellagio, and its
bright villas, seen amid the trees, are pleasant sights; while from the
ever-passing boats, with their white arched awnings, I hear laughter and
voices of happy people, whose hearts are lighter than my own.

If I could only find resolution for the task, too, there are a host
of letters lying by me unanswered. How little do some of those "dear
friends" who invite one to shoot grouse in the Highlands, or hunt in
Leicestershire, think of the real condition of those they ask to be
their guests! It is enough that you have been seen in certain houses of
a certain repute. You have visited at B------, and spent a Christmas at
G------; you are known as a tolerable shot and a fair average talker;
you are sufficiently recognised in the world as to be known to all men
of a very general acceptance, and no more is wanted. But, test this
kind of position by absence! Try, if you will, what a few years out of
England effect! You are as totally forgotten as though you belonged to
a past generation. You expect--naturally enough,