Suddenly, just after he had called her attention to a charming Constable, she turned and looked at him as if he himself had been a picture.
"Do you always spend your time like this ?" she demanded.
"I seldom spend it so agreeably." "Well, you know what I mean--without any regular occupation." "Ah," said Ralph, "I'm the idlest man living." Miss Stackpole directed her gaze to the Constable again, and Ralph bespoke her attention for a small Lancret hanging near it, which represented a gentleman in a pink doublet and hose and a ruff, leaning against the pedestal of the statue of a nymph in a garden and playing the guitar to two ladies seated on the grass.

"That's my ideal of a regular occupation," he said.
Miss Stackpole turned to him again, and, though her eyes had rested upon the picture, he saw she had missed the subject.

She was thinking of something much more serious.

"I don't see how you can reconcile it to your conscience." "My dear lady, I have no conscience!" "Well, I advise you to cultivate one.

You'll need it the next time you go to America." "I shall probably never go again." "Are you ashamed to show yourself ?" Ralph meditated with a mild smile.