ence when the tea-party was over. So she had
fallen back on conversation with her cousin. That Cousin Hester--dear,
shapeless, Puritanical thing!--disapproved of her, her dress, her
smoking, her ways, and her opinions, Cicely well knew--but that only
gave zest to their meetings, which were not very frequent.

Meanwhile Bridget, in lieu of conversation and while tea was still
preparing, was making mental notes of the cottage. It consisted
apparently of two sitting-rooms, and a studio--in which they were to
have tea--with two or three bedrooms above. It had been developed out of
a Westmorland farm, but developed beyond recognition. The spacious rooms
panelled in plain oak, were furnished sparely, with few things, but
those of the most beautiful and costly kind. Old Persian rugs and
carpets, a few Renaissance mirrors, a few priceless 'pots,' a picture or
two, hangings and coverings of a dim purple--the whole, made by these
various items and objects, expressed a taste perhaps originally florid,
but tamed by long and fastidious practice of the arts of decoration.

In the study where tea had been laid, Nelly could not restrain her
wonder and delight. On one wall hung ten of the most miraculous
Turners--drawings from his best period, each of them irreplaceably
famous. Another wall showed a group of Boningtons--a third a similar
gathering of Whistlers. Sir William, charmed with the bride's pleasure,
took down drawing after drawing, carried them to the light for her, and
discoursed upon them.

'Would you like that to copy?'--he said, putting a Turner into her
lap--a marvel of blue mountain peaks, and winding river, and aerial
distance.

'Oh, I shouldn't dare--I should be afraid!' said Nelly, hardly liking to
take the treasure in her own hands. 'Aren't they--aren't they worth
immense sums?'

Sir William laughed.

'Well, of course, they're valuable--everybody wants them. But if you
would ever like that one to copy, you shall have it, and any other that
would help you. I know you wouldn't let it be hurt, if you could help
it--because you'd love it--as I do. You wouldn't let a Turner drawing
like that fade and blister in the sun--as I've seen happen again and
again in houses he painted them for. Brutes! Hanging's too good for
people who maltreat Turners. Let me relieve you of it now. I must get
you some tea. But the drawing will come to you next week. You won't be
able to think of it till then.'

He looked at her with the a