"What, in Indian ink?"
"Yes; and water-colours."
"Oh! Why, who could have taught you in this little village; or, indeed, in this most primitive county?"
"We did not come to Brook-Green till I was nearly fifteen. My dear mother, though very anxious to leave our villa at Fulham, would not do so on my account, while masters could be of service to me; and as I knew she had set her heart on this place, I worked doubly hard."
"Then she knew this place before?"
"Yes; she had been here many years ago, and took the place after my poor father's death,—I always call the late Lord Vargrave my father. She used to come here regularly once a year without me; and when she returned, I thought her even more melancholy than before."
"What makes the charm of the place to Lady Vargrave?" asked Caroline, with some interest.
"I don't know; unless it be its extreme quiet, or some early association."
"And who is your nearest neighbour?"
"Mr. Aubrey, the curate. It is so unlucky, he is gone from home for a short time. You can't think how kind and pleasant he is,—the most amiable old man in the world; just such a man as Bernardin St. Pierre would have loved to describe."