"And your opinion?" asked Maltravers, seating himself in the vacant chair,—it chanced to be next to Evelyn's.
"My opinion is decidedly in favour of London. A metropolitan life, with its perpetual and graceful excitements,—the best music, the best companions, the best things in short. Provincial life is so dull, its pleasures so tiresome; to talk over the last year's news, and wear out one's last year's dresses, cultivate a conservatory, and play Pope Joan with a young party,—dreadful!"
"I agree with Miss Merton," said Lord Doltimore, solemnly; not but what I like the country for three or four months in the year, with good shooting and hunting, and a large house properly filled, independent of one's own neighbourhood: but if I am condemned to choose one place to live in, give me Paris."
"Ah, Paris; I never was in Paris. I should so like to travel!" said
Caroline.
"But the inns abroad are so very bad," said Lord Doltimore; "how people can rave about Italy, I can't think. I never suffered so much in my life as I did in Calabria; and at Venice I was bit to death by mosquitoes. Nothing like Paris, I assure you: don't you think so, Mr. Maltravers?"
"Perhaps I shall be able to answer you better in a short time. I think of accompanying Mr. Cleveland to Paris!"
"Indeed!" said Caroline. "Well, I envy you; but is it a sudden resolution?"
"Not very."
"Do you stay long?" asked Lord Doltimore.
"My stay is uncertain."