“And very charming that is,” said he, walking to the window and looking out. And then he asked the name of a headland, and how a small rocky island was called, and on which side lay the village of Portshandon, and at what distance was the church, the replies to which seemed to afford him unmixed satisfaction; for, as he resumed his seat, he muttered several times to himself, “Very delightful indeed; very pleasing in every way!”
“Lord Culduff was asking me as he came-along,” said Marion, “whether I thought the solitude—I think he called it the savagery of this spot—was likely to be better borne by one native to such wildness, or by one so graced and gifted as yourself, and I protest he puzzled me.”
“I used to think it very lonely when I came here first, but I believe I should be sorry to leave it now,” said Julia, calmly.
“There, my Lord,” said Marion, “you are to pick your answer out of that.”
“As to those resources which you are so flattering as to call my gifts and graces,” said Julia, laughing, “such of them at least as lighten the solitude were all learned here, I never took to gardening before; I never fed poultry.”
“Oh, Julia! have mercy on our illusions!”
“You must tell me what they are, before I can spare them. The curate's sister has no claim to be thought an enchanted princess.”
“It is all enchantment!” said Lord Culduff, who had only very imperfectly caught what she said.
“Then, I suppose, my Lord,” said Marion, haughtily, “I ought to rescue you before the spell is complete, as I came here in quality of guide.” And she rose as she spoke. “The piano has not been opened to-day, Julia. I take it you seldom sing of a morning?”
“Very seldom, indeed.”