her temperament, by the want of something really to interest her. She had grown careless to observe, yet even she was quite animated into admiration by the beauty of the garden as she entered. The turf short, but not too short, fresh without being damp, sloped down to the river; sometimes golden green in the sunshine, at others darkly green in the shade. The beds were filled with flowers of every kind, and stands were scattered around of rare and costly plants. Groups of the young and beautiful were mingled among them, and the rich colouring of the period's costume was relieved by the verdant foliage. It was a pretty contrast between nature and art.
"Well," exclaimed Lady Marchmont, breathing the perfume with which a honeysuckle, wound around an old ash, filled the air, "I do confess that I like common flowers better than any. The hothouse plant has no associations."
"And I," interrupted Lord Marchmont, "infinitely prefer exotics: they show that some trouble has been taken on our account.
