Austin listened very dutifully for some time, but the subject bored him atrociously, and his attention began to wander.  At last he made some rather vague and irrelevant replies, and then announced boldly that he thought all politicians were very silly old gentlemen, particularly economists; for his own part, he hated economy, especially when he wanted to buy something beautiful to look at; he further considered that political economists would be much better employed if they sat contemplating tulips instead of writing horrid books, and that Lubin was a great deal wiser than the whole pack of them put together.  Then Aunt Charlotte got extremely angry, and a great wrangle ensued, in the course of which she said he was a foolish, ignorant boy, who talked nonsense for the sake of talking it.  Austin replied by asking if she knew what a quincunx was, or what Virgil was really driving at when he composed the First Eclogue, and whether she had ever heard of Lycidas; and when she said that she had something better to do than stuff her head with quidnunxes and all such pagan rubbish, he remarked very politely that ignorance was evidently not all of the same sort.  Which sent Aunt Charlotte bustling away in a huff to look after her household duties.

“It’s all very sad and very ugly, isn’t it, Gioconda?” sighed Austin, as he lifted the large, white, fluffy animal upon his lap.  “You’re a great philosopher, my dear; I wish I were as wise as you.  You’re so scornful, so dignified, so divinely egoistic.  But you don’t mind being worshipped, do you, Gioconda?  Because you know it’s your right, of course.  There—­she’s actually condescending to purr!  Now we’ll come and disport ourselves under the trees, and you shall watch the birds from a safe distance.  I know your wicked ways, and I must teach you how to treat your inferiors with proper benignity and toleration.”

But Gioconda had plans of her own for the afternoon, and declined the proposed discipline; so Austin strolled off by himself, and lay down under the trees with a large book on Italian gardens to console him.  His improvised exertions in the water had produced a certain fatigue, and he felt lazy and inert.  Gradually he dropped off into a doze, which lasted more than an hour.  And he had a curious dream.  He thought he was in some strange land—­a land like a garden seen through yellow glass—­where everything was transparent, and people glided about as though they were skating, without any conscious effort.  Then Aunt Charlotte appeared upon the scene, and he saw by her eyes that she was very angry because Lycidas had been drowned while bathing; but Austin assured her that it was Lubin who was drowned, and that it really was of no consequence, because Lubin was only a squirrel after all.  At this point things got extremely mixed, and the sound of voices broke in upon his slumbers.  He opened his eyes, and saw Aunt Charlotte herself in the act of walking away with a toss of her head that betokened a ruffled temper.