“Those are beautiful specimens of wood-carving, are they not?” said their host to Maurice, who was examining some book-shelves at one end of the room; “they are for my library—nothing is in its place about the house. Indeed I have hardly had time to get my things unpacked yet.”
“You have always been abroad, Mr. Huyton?” said Sybil, coming up to his side.
“Yes,” was his reply, with a smile, as he looked at her face of curiosity. “I have spent twenty-five years, my whole life indeed, abroad; but I mean to settle in England now, and make this my home. Look at these beautiful cameos, shall we show them to your sister? would she like to see them?”
“Oh, yes! Hilary has some of her own, which I know she likes very much,” replied Sybil, eagerly.
“But she would like these best,” said Gwyneth, decidedly; pointing to a book of drawings, between the leaves of which she had furtively peeped. It was a collection of drawings, copied from some of the most celebrated works of good artists, all done in a masterly style.
“She shall have her choice,” replied their host, looking much pleased; “you bring the book, and I will carry the case of cameos.”
Again Hilary begged him not to trouble himself, but without any effect: a small table was placed beside her, and one article after another produced for her amusement. Her admiration of the colored drawings was extreme, and evidently highly gratifying to her host.
“How much my father would enjoy these,” said she to Maurice.
“If you think them worth the trouble of carrying home with you,” said Mr. Huyton, “I shall be only too much flattered to lend them to you. I can see, by your careful handling of them, the book would be as safe with you as with me.”
“They are exquisitely beautiful,” said Hilary, gazing with