The grounds covered pretty nearly seven acres. They were wonderfully well tended, and had been laid out with great judgment and good taste. They were richly stocked with trees; at one extremity was a fine orchard; the wilder aspects of nature had been judiciously preserved, and among the trees, in some portions of the estate, you would have imagined yourself in the wilds of a forest. The evening was beautiful, beyond the power of language to describe. The sun shone brightly, but with the mellow and tender light that it takes in its descent, and which deepens upon it as it nears the western horizon. Under the trees a soft and fairy-like night had gathered, though here and there the sunshine streamed through the branches, and bathed the deep green grass with pools of yellow splendour. Far and near, the pink hills reared their wooded ridges to the sky; while the quiet breeze rang with the silvery chimes of the distant church-bells.
“Englishmen are quite right in believing in their country,” said I. “It is the finest place in the world to live in.”
“You like it better than France?”
“I like Updown better than Longueville, certainly. What makes you smile? I suppose you think me capricious and unfaithful to my old affections.”
“And yet I am sure you find Updown very much duller than Longueville.”
“I daresay I should, if it were not for Grove End.”
“We are dull enough here.”
“I am not. I am very happy. I know I should be very sorry to go back to Longueville, unless I could return to it on my own terms.”
“First of all, I should wish to take you with me.”