The great lake shone like a sapphire; meadows of emerald, woods of darker green, hills of purple and grey, silver and gold, rose from the bosom and the edge of the great liquid jewel; the hills towering tier on tier into the heavens of azure blue swept by clouds like drifting snow.
The two men gazed in silence; even Pottinger, to whom his 'osses generally represented all that was beautiful in nature, gaped with wide-open mouth.
"How's that for lofty, you unbeliever ?" demanded Stafford.

"Ever seen anything like that before ?" Howard had been considerably startled, but, of course, he concealed his amazed admiration behind a mask of cynicism.
"Rather a crib from Val Prinsep, isn't it, with a suggestion of a Drury Lane pantomime about it?
Good heavens! And there's the Fairy Palace all complete," he added, as, the mists still rising, was discovered on the slope of the other side a long and extremely ornate building, the pure whiteness of which was reflected in the marvellous blue and opal of the lake.

"Can that be Sir Stephen's 'little place' ?" "I'm afraid it is," said Stafford.

"It looks like the governor," he added, with a touch of gravity.
"Well, it's very big, or, rather, long; and it's very white, but one's bound to admit that it doesn't spoil the landscape," said Howard; "in fact, standing there amidst the dark-green trees, with its pinnacles and terraces, it's rather an ornament than otherwise.

I suppose there are flowers on those velvety lawns; and the interior, I'll wager my life, matches the exterior.