Of course all the above rehearsed good qualities were, or were calculated to be, immediately perceived and appreciated, while the less pleasant specialties which accompanied them were of a kind to become more perceptible only in close intimacy.  And while no intimacy ever lessened that regard of my mother and myself that had been won by the first, it was not long before we were both, my mother especially, vexed by exhibitions of the second.

As, for instance:—­Lady Bulwer had for some days been complaining of feeling unwell, and was evidently suffering.  My mother urged her to have some medical advice, whereupon she turned on her very angrily, while the tears started to her beautiful eyes, and said, “How can you tell me to do any such thing, when you know that I have not a guinea for the purpose?” (She was frequently wont to complain of her poverty.) But she had hardly got the words out of her mouth when the servant entered the room saying that the silversmith was at the door asking that the account which he laid on the table might be paid.  The account (which Lady Bulwer made no attempt to conceal, for concealment of anything was not at all in her line) was for a pair of small silver spurs and an ornamented silver collar which she had ordered a week or two previously for the ceremonial knighting of her little dog Taffy!

On another occasion a large party of us were to visit the Boboli Gardens.  It was a very hot day, and we had to climb the hill to the upper part of the gardens, from whence the view over Florence and the Val d’Arno is a charming one.  But the hill, as those who have been at Florence will not have forgotten, is not only an extremely steep, but a shadeless one.  The broad path runs between two wide margins of turf, which are enclosed on either side by thick but not very high shrubberies.  The party sorted themselves into couples, and the men addressed themselves to facilitating as best they might the not slightly fatiguing work before the ladies.  It fell to my lot to give Lady Bulwer my arm.  Before long we were the last and most lagging couple on the path.  It was hard work, but I did my best, and flattered myself that my companion, despite the radical moisture which she was copiously losing, was in high good humour, as indeed she seemed to be, when suddenly, without a word of warning, she dashed from the path, threw herself prone among the bushes, and burst into an uncontrollable fit of sobs and weeping.  I was horrified with amazement.  What had I done, or what left undone?  It was long before I could get a word out of her.  At last she articulated amidst her sobs, “It is TOO hot!  It is cruel to bring one here!” Yes, it was too hot; but that was all.  Fortunately I was not the cruel bringer.  I consoled her to the best of my power, and induced her to wipe her eyes.  I dabbled a handkerchief in a neighbouring fountain for her to wash her streaked face, and eventually I got her to the top of the hill, where all the others had long since arrived.