"She has only been here a month or two, it seems, and cannot stay much
longer, because she finds it so lonely and damp in winter. She is going
abroad. Only think, she would like me to go with her."

Giles's features stiffened a little at the news. "Indeed; what for?
But I won't keep you standing here. Hoi, Robert!" he cried to a
swaying collection of clothes in the distance, which was the figure of
Creedle his man. "Go on filling in there till I come back."

"I'm a-coming, sir; I'm a-coming."

"Well, the reason is this," continued she, as they went on
together--"Mrs. Charmond has a delightful side to her character--a
desire to record her impressions of travel, like Alexandre Dumas, and
Mery, and Sterne, and others. But she cannot find energy enough to do
it herself." And Grace proceeded to explain Mrs. Charmond's proposal at
large. "My notion is that Mery's style will suit her best, because he
writes in that soft, emotional, luxurious way she has," Grace said,
musingly.

"Indeed!" said Winterborne, with mock awe. "Suppose you talk over my
head a little longer, Miss Grace Melbury?"

"Oh, I didn't mean it!" she said, repentantly, looking into his eyes.
"And as for myself, I hate French books. And I love dear old Hintock,
AND THE PEOPLE IN IT, fifty times better than all the Continent. But
the scheme; I think it an enchanting notion, don't you, Giles?"