"The cottages
must be quite covered with roses, whenever they are not too near the
sea; and the trees at their best, full of leaves and blossoms, by the
side of the brook that feeds them. All the rest of the coast is so hard
and barren, and covered with chalk instead of grass, and the shore so
straight and staring. But I have never been there at this time of year.
How much you must enjoy it! Surely we ought to be able to see it, from
this high ground somewhere."
"Yes, if you will ride to that shattered tree," said Faith, "you will
have a very fine view of all the valley. You can see round the corner
of Foxhill there, which shuts out most of it just here. I think you have
met our Captain Stubbard."
"Ah, I must not go now; I may be wanted at any moment"--Lord Dashville
had very fine taste, but it was not the inanimate beauties of
Springhaven that he cared a dash for--"and I fear that I could never see
the roses there. I think there is nothing in all nature to compare with
a rose--except one thing."
Faith had a lovely moss-rose in her hat--a rose just peeping through
its lattice at mankind, before it should open and blush at them--and she
knew what it was that he admired more than the sweetest rose that
ever gemmed itself with dew. Lord Dashville had loved her, as she was
frightened to remember, for more than a year, because he could not help
it, being a young man of great common-sense, as well as fine taste, and
some knowledge of the world.
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