“What is it amuses you, Mr. Maitland?” said she, unable to repress her curiosity.
“I am afraid to tell you,—that is, I might have told you a moment ago, but I can't now.”
“Perhaps I guess it?”
“I don't think so.”
“No matter; let us talk of something else. Isn't that a very beautiful little bay? It was a fancy of mine once to build a cottage there. You can see the spot from here, to the left of those three rocks.”
“Yes; but there are walls there,—ruins, I think.”
“No, not exactly ruins. They were the outer walls of my intended villa, which I abandoned after I had begun it; and there they stand,—accusers of a change of mind, sad reminders of other days and their projects.”
“Were they very pleasant days that you sigh over them, or are they sad reminiscences?”
“Both one and the other. I thought it would be such a nice thing to retire from the world and all its vanities, and live there very secluded and forgotten.”
“And how long ago was this?”