It would not have been easy to say more, and, besides, the others were coming up the walk, and, partly because there were tears in her eyes, and partly because she shrunk nervously from the excessive friendliness with which it seemed to be Mrs Grove’s intention on the occasion to distinguish her, she turned, hoping to escape. She did not succeed, however, and stood still at the door, knowing very well what would be Mrs Grove’s first remark.
“Ah! I see you have an eye for the beautiful.”
She had heard her say it just as many times as she had stood with her on that very beautiful spot; and she never expected to stand there without hearing it, certainly not if, as on the present occasion, there were strangers there too. It was varied a little, this time.
“You see, Mr Green, Miss Elliott has an eye for the beautiful. I knew we should find her here, with her friends.”
The rest was as usual.
“Observe how entirely different this is, from all the other views about the place. There is not a glimpse of the river, or of the mountains, except that blue line of hills, very distant indeed. The scene is quite a pastoral one, you see. Can you imagine anything more tranquil? It seems the very domain of silence and repose.”
The last remark was not so effective as usual, because of the noise made by Charlie Millar and Will, and the young Groves, as they ran along the broad walk full in sight.
“It is a bonny, quiet place,” said Mrs Snow.
“The garden is not seen at its best now,” continued Mrs Grove. “The beauty of the spring flowers is over, and except the roses, we have not many summer flowers; we make a better show later in the season.”
“It looks first-rate,” said Mr Snow.