"Where I left him, poor fellow."
"That will do; the others may hear."
"Allow me to adjust the telescope for you, Tedril," said Trevalyon. "I know it well, now, Mrs. Tompkins, you have a fine view taking in as you see a ravishing bit of Richmond a very embodiment of rest, at least where you are gazing, with the music which you are to imagine of the Thames at its feet."
"Enough;" she said, "I am no poet, and with me a little of that sort of thing goes a long way; turn it on something practical, if it will range so far."
"Shall it be London, Guildford, or chic little Epsom, fair Madame?"
"Give me London."
"Our gilded Babylon, versus ethereal skies, with lights and shadows that would send an artist wild," said Trevalyon, gaily readjusting the telescope.
"Why, Trevalyon, such sentiments from you," exclaimed the Colonel, while the others gathered around.
"'Tis a practical age, I like his view," said Everly.
"Do you, well take it; my eyes pain me," cried Madame.