"It is indeed: ages ago great improvements were made by papa's grandfather. He got quit of all the cottages except the row that stood here—for what can be more horrid than the sight of a set of dirty ignorant people in such beautiful scenery? They should all live in a common, or hide themselves in some dark streets in London. Don't you think so?"
"A great many of them do; but, if I were a sketcher, I think I could make a very interesting subject out of a poor man's cottage, with his little children playing about the garden."
"Not real poor children!" exclaimed Miss Arabel, "nor a real poor man—no. I have made sketches myself of papa and the Misses Warrible—Sir Stephen Warrible's daughters—dressing them in fancy rags, and filling the garden they played in with flowers from our conservatory, and giving the cottage French windows and a trellis-work veranda. He stands leaning on a spade, with silver buckles in his shoes, and the children are playing La Grace with the hoops, covered with pink ribands. I called it 'The Poor Man's Joy;' and Lord Moon has begged me to give it to an engraver."
"I hope you will comply with his lordship's request."
"I would if I could escape the publicity of the thing. Papa would be so angry if he thought I was so nearly professional as to be the author of a published sketch."
"I am afraid your father is too particular. No scruple of the kind fettered the genius of one of the princesses of France."
"Ah, but she was one of the new people! There was no artist in the elder branch. Papa can't endure Louis Philippe, and says they are all very low."
The gentleman was attacked with a slight cough, and after a pause renewed the conversation.
"I think I have seen you engaged on this subject for some time."
"It takes a long time to get in all these twists and corners," replied Miss Arabel with a smile of satisfaction, to find that the recontre was not more one of chance on his side than her own.