"One almost expects to see the merry god lift the cup to his lip," said Vaura; "he looks so life-like."
"It is a remarkably well executed thing," said Trevalyon.
"The whole villa," echoed Lady Esmondet, "has a cheerful brightness pervading it that would dispel the chronic grumbling of a Diogenes or an Englishman."
"Even Gladstone," cried Vaura, gaily, "would here forget that
Beaconsfield wants a 'war supply.'"
"And I, Trevalyon, shall so lose myself in the intoxicating sweetness of the hour as to forget that on my return to England I have to enter the arena of the strife of tongues, and combat Dame Rumour in facing a 'difficulty.'" At the last word be looked meaningly at Vaura, and with quickened heart-beats she remembered his flowers, and knew what would come when the 'difficulty' was faced and removed.
"The absent Marquis likes well the form of the god of wine," said Lady Esmondet, directing her companion's gaze towards a group of statuary on a small inlaid stand, and reflected in a pier glass, representing Anacreon smilingly advancing, carrying in his arms the infants Bacchus and Cupid.
"'Tis a pretty group, extremely chic," said Vaura.
"What think you, Vaura, of the painting behind you?" inquired Lady
Esmondet.
On turning slightly she saw the pictured face of the owner of the villa, the eyes of her admirer seemed so steadfast in their gaze that a faint blush suffused her cheek as she said:
"A true likeness of a true friend, for we are most comfortably placed by his kindness; indeed I think when the day comes to leave the villa we would fain remain."