“Why, yes, I confess I think so,” said the old Fellow. “I have forgotten my native fells a little, after living here nearly fifty years; but I have never learned yet to find any beauty in the country here. Pray what are its impressive features, Miss Southcote?”
I paused a moment that I might not be angry. “There is the sky,” said I.
The youth, on the other side of the table, bent towards me to listen; the old gentleman laughed a polite little critical laugh. “The sky is scarcely a part of the Cambridgeshire scenery, I am afraid,” he said.
As I paused, not quite knowing what to answer, the young man came to my aid. “I am not sure of that, sir,” he said, with a look of eagerness, which struck me with some wonder. “The sky is as much a portion of the Cambridgeshire scenery as Michael Angelo’s roof is a part of the Sistine chapel. Where else have you such an extent of cloud and firmament? You must yield us the sky.”
“The sky belongs equally to every county in England, and to every country in the world,” said our white-haired critic. “I will yield you no such thing—there is but one Sistine chapel in the world, and one roof belonging to it. You must find a better argument.”
“You can see so far—you are bounded by nothing but heaven,” said I.
“Yes,” said my new supporter, “there is the true sense of infinitude in that wonderful vast blank of horizon; you never find the same thing in a hilly country, and it is perfect of its kind.”
“My young assailants,” said the old gentleman, smiling, “if you mean to maintain that your county has no features at all, I have no controversy with you; that is exactly my own opinion.”
It happened that as we both glanced up indignantly, and both paused, hesitating what next to say to such an obdurate infidel, our eyes met. He looked at me earnestly, almost sadly, and with a rising color—I felt my cheeks burn, yet could not help returning his gaze for an instant. It was a contemplative face, with fine and regular features, and large dark blue eyes; the oval outline of the cheeks was quite smooth, and the complexion dusky and almost colorless; but I was surprised to find myself wondering over this stranger’s features, as if they were familiar to me. Where was it possible I could have seen them before? but, indeed, if he was a Cambridgeshire man, as his words implied, it was easy to account for having seen him.
For the moment, looking at each other, we forgot the cause we were defending, and our antagonist stood contemplating us with a pleasant smile; he did not say anything, but when I looked up and caught his eye, I withdrew my own in confusion. I did not know why, and there was, indeed, no cause, but though I could not explain, I felt a strange embarrassment, and hastened to speak to shake it off.