e go down. Hertfordshire. I find on inquiry that there is no Guide to this county. Black ignores it, Murray knows nothing about it, and Bradshaw is silent on the subject.
Happy Thought.—While at Our Mansion write a Guide to Hertfordshire.
Arrived at the station we inquire for Blackmeer Hall. Six or seven miles to drive. I ask if this distance isn't against it? I am met by the unanimous answer, “Not at all.”
Chilvern points out the beauties of the road as we go along. We become silent, not liking to have things perpetually pushed under our notice, as if we couldn't see them for ourselves.
“There's a fine bit,” he says, pointing to a gate. We nod. “Aren't the colours of the trees lovely?” he asks. We agree with him. For the sake of argument, I observe that I've seen finer. “Where?” he inquires. I don't know at this moment where, but, being on my mettle, I am certain that I have seen finer.
Happy Thought.—In Derbyshire.
He pooh-poohs the notion of Derbyshire. Then he continues giving us bits of useful information, like a disjointed lecture.
“There's a tree for you!” he exclaims. Then, “There's a queer old roof, eh?” No notice being taken of this, he continues, “Fine beech that!” “Beautiful view, isn't it?” Presently, “Just look at the sky now!” and so on.
Cazell begins to resent it, so does Boodels.