"It was much the same with me," observed Spence.

"Yes, but you had the inestimable advantage of knowing the classics.
And Cecily, I am thankful to say, at least has something of Latin;
an ode of Horace, which I look at with fretfulness, yields her its
meaning. Last night, when I was tired and willing to be flattered,
she tried to make me believe it was not yet too late to learn."

"Surely not," said Eleanor, gracefully.

"But Goethe--you remember he says that the desire to see Italy had
become an illness with him. I know so well what that means. Cecily
will never know; the happiness has come before longing for it had
ceased to be a pleasure."

It was not so much affection as pride that her voice expressed when
she referred to her niece; the same in her look, which was less
tender than gratified and admiring. Cecily smiled in return, but was
not wholly attentive; her eyes constantly turned to Miriam,
endeavouring, though vainly, to exchange a glance.

Mrs. Lessingham was well aware of the difficulty of addressing to
Mrs. Baske any remark on natural topics which could engage her
sympathy, yet to ignore her presence was impossible.

"Do you think of seeing Rome and the northern cities when your
health is established?" she inquired, in a voice which skilfully
avoided any presumption of the reply. "Or shall you return by sea?"

"I am not a very good sailor," answered Miriam, with sufficient