where I and Ginevra sat apart. In his usual mode of demanding an opinion (he had not reticence to wait till it was voluntarily offered) he asked:—
"Were you interested?"
According to my wonted undemonstrative fashion, I simply answered—
"Yes."
"Was it good?"
"Very good."
"Yet I could not write that down," said he.
"Why not, monsieur?"
"I hate the mechanical labour; I hate to stoop and sit still. I could dictate it, though, with pleasure to an amanuensis who suited me. Would Mademoiselle Lucy write for me if I asked her?"
"Monsieur would be too quick; he would urge me, and be angry, if my pen did not keep pace with his lips."
"Try some day; let us see the monster I can make of myself under the circumstances. But just now, there is no question of dictation; I mean to make you useful in another office. Do you see yonder farm-house?"
"Surrounded with trees? Yes."
"There we are to breakfast; and while the good
