my private garden--below?"

"I can't say, Mr. Fairlie. I heard nothing myself."

"Oblige me--you have been so very good in humouring my poor
nerves--oblige me by lifting up a corner of the blind. Don't let
the sun in on me, Mr. Hartright! Have you got the blind up? Yes?
Then will you be so very kind as to look into the garden and make
quite sure?"

I complied with this new request. The garden was carefully walled
in, all round. Not a human creature, large or small, appeared in
any part of the sacred seclusion. I reported that gratifying fact
to Mr. Fairlie.

"A thousand thanks. My fancy, I suppose. There are no children,
thank Heaven, in the house; but the servants (persons born without
nerves) will encourage the children from the village. Such brats--
oh, dear me, such brats! Shall I confess it, Mr. Hartright?--I
sadly want a reform in the construction of children. Nature's
only idea seems to be to make them machines for the production of
incessant noise. Surely our delightful Raffaello's conception is
infinitely preferable?"

He pointed to the picture of the Madonna, the upper part of which
represented the conventional cherubs of Italian Art, celestially
provided with sitting accommodation for their chins, on balloons
of buff-coloured cloud.

"Quite a model family!" said Mr. Fairlie, leering at the cherubs.