To the Poet himself, I am sure, this seemed rather wide of the mark; but it was just one of those complimentary exaggerations which Lamia invariably employs when she wants to propitiate Veronica.
‘By one who has both,’ she went on, ‘and accordingly is everywhere vouchsafed a welcome not only for himself, but for all who travel in his train. It was not very comfortable last night at that picturesque locanda; and I confess I am looking forward to the prosaic domestic comforts that are promised us this evening.’
I confess I did not follow the workings of her mind, and almost began to suspect that I had imputed to her a design of which she was innocent. But I was quickly confirmed again in my original surmise.
‘Was this country very different when you saw it first from what it is now?’
‘Well, yes, and no,’ replied the Poet, falling into the trap. ‘Different where Pleasure and Fashion have invaded it: not different where Nature maintains her native dominion. Along the road, then the only one, we are now ascending, nothing seems to be altered. What change has taken place you will perceive very shortly, when we arrive at the summit. Then one looked down only on the austere towers and jutting promontory of a rock-bound sea-moated Principality. Now,—but never mind!’
‘But I do mind. I am greatly interested in these changes.’ Then suddenly, ‘Veronica! Has it not struck you that we shall arrive at our journey’s end to-day in the middle of the afternoon, when you know you never like guests to present themselves? Do you not think it would be better if we got there towards tea-time?‘
‘Yes, I think it would; and we can easily loiter along the road.’
‘Dear Veronica!’ said Lamia in her most impulsive accents and her most irresistible manner, ‘do let us loiter there then, if only for an hour!’
‘Where?’ said Veronica.
‘O, you know what I mean. There!’