When we had explored Dartmouth, as far as time allowed, the ferry-boat took us back to Kingswear, where we proposed to have tea with a lady living up on the hill. Here the modern came in, but not until we wanted it--with the soft sofa and the recreative cup. Kingswear keeps its mate over the way in countenance. The new homes tuck themselves unobtrusively into sylvan nooks that soften or hide them--or so it seemed; I must confess that it was tea-time, and I did not take much notice. Besides, the way to the house of M.'s friend was so steep and so striking that I was bound to confine my attention to it. Tier above tier, up shadowed shrubbery pathways and mossed stone stairways, the various footholds of the garden were laboriously gained. The approach reminded me of some I had heard or read or seen pictures of, leading to villas on Italian heights. It was very pretty, and the house when we reached it was more than that. We had but half-an-hour there before we had to seek our train, but it was a pleasant bit of the day. I envied our hostess her house as much as I did anyone in England. From one side of it she looked down upon the harbour--the _Britannia_ and the Naval College and the green shores; from the other she looked away to the river mouth--Kingswear Castle and the open sea. While immediately around her, and adown her steep garden, she had all the privacy of Sandringham before the avenue was blown down.
Another "day out" enriched my collection of impressions of Devonshire with a set of charming memories. It was the day we went to the wedding.
"Now," said M., when she had explained to me that I was a potential guest, "I am going to show you, one of the finest views in England." Thereupon she described the situation of the country house which was to be the scene of festivity. It stood very high, in beautiful gardens, which dropped down and down in a succession of terraces, ending in a deep coombe and the sea. It was quite a famous beauty spot, apparently, and when I had seen it I should have seen Devonshire at its best. I did not need to be told what that meant.
At daybreak the fog was very thick and so remained till noon. We dressed before luncheon, having a long drive before us, and the fate of feathers and furbelows still hung doubtful. The carriage came round closed, and we slipped into wraps and set forth--my two sister-hostesses and myself--and there was no sign of the weather clearing. We were all fresh-air persons who could not stand being cooped up, and we opened the carriage windows, and the fog visibly flowed in. To me it was an agreeable circumstance--more so, for once, than the brilliant sunshine to which I was almost too well accustomed. It did not rain, nor feel like it; in fact there was not a drop all day, and we could see our way before us, and on both sides as far as the hedges of the deep-sunk, narrow lane-like roads. Those rich autumnal hedges tapestried the impalpable wall behind them with lovely forms that were a joy to study--wreathing ivy, intertwined with pink valerian, cascades of traveller's joy like the foam of our wild clematis at home. What the views beyond must have been I could guess, for we were driving for an hour or more and it seemed to be stiff climbing all the way.