Basil had been walking along one of the main paths for some time now, looking at the gentle movements in the leaves of the elm trees, while trying recall all the entertaining things he had observed so far and which were - most importantly - worth retelling. The painting and the statues had been quite nice, for example, and the tightrope walking had been quite fantastic, though it would have been more so if in the midst of excitement, he had not stepped on a nearby lady's shoe, who happened to be very vocal and angry - not the shoe, the lady. As for other things he might be able to speak about later on...

Well, there was still about half-an-hour left to the beginning of the concert, so he could anticipate more discussion worthy subjects to reveal themselves. In the meantime, he could eat something, he decided, before seeing the price of the food. He should have listened to his mother and ate something before coming to the Gardens, his grumbling belly now kept telling him, but he tried to ignore it by embarking on an adventure; not to meet a 'pretty lass' like his mother had suggested during his quick visit to the family house, but rather to prove to himself that he could find a way to have some fun on his own, without the help of his colleagues, give or take the 's'.

Thus, with a sudden change of mood, and a big rather contrived grin on his face, Basil strode into one of the narrower paths, which unknown to him was called: The Lovers' Walk... at the first spotting of a different sort of adventure than he had in mind, however, he had to dart away, face unanimously red, in order to avoid any other further stray glances at an intimate couple. In his rush, however, and while making a sharp turn, he suddenly came face to face with another person. It took all his dexterity, and the grabbing of a few weak branches, not to collide with the lady and instead swing headlong into the embrace of a bush.

The Misses Longstaffe had not been in town long enough to have made any friends. Hermione knew that the Wriothesleys were in town because they had very kindly invited them to a picnic at which she hoped she would make some fine acquaintances but apart from that she knew nobody who was in town.

Nevertheless, lack of acquaintance was not sufficient an adversity to stop Hermione. She and Pamela could still enjoy themselves. She consulted her guidebooks and Pamela consulted her novels and for once the two agreed: that Vauxhall Gardens was the place to go for evening entertainment.

So they hired a carriage and set off in high excitement. Pamela had wanted to come by boat but Hermione had not known how to go about arranging that but was able to appease her sister's irritation by promising that their second visit would start in that way.

They paid their three shillings each and entered the gardens, walking arm in arm. Neither had seen so many people in one place before and had no idea where they should go.

"We'll have to get supper and find places for the concert before eight o'clock," Hermione stated.

"But it's only half past six!" protested Pamela. "Can we go in the dark walks? Can we, please? Like Evelina! We can get rescued by Lord Orville - it will be so very romantic!"

Hermione thought it very unlikely that they would meet anybody like Lord Orville if they went into the dark walks. Or indeed those unsuitable women Evelina had encountered before the hero. Without any fear of such encounters, she had no objection to their taking a walk, especially as the evening was still early and the walks were not yet very dark at all.

So they set off from the main entrance in search of these legendary paths of iniquity, had they only taken Miss Burney for the authority she really was.

Nevertheless, both sisters had an admirable quality of not seeing what they did not wish to. Despite the rustling of the bushes on either side of the walk, both saw nothing more out of the ordinary than friends and couples taking an evening stroll.

"This is very pleasant!" said Hermione, who was enjoying the greenery after so much white stone.

"This is very dull - I wish we had some acquaintance!" said Pamela, as they turned into a new walk and she also ran into a gentleman.

"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione, even though she was not the one to nearly collidge. "I'm so sorry, sir!"

Pamela jumped back and blushed and simpered, before abruptly stopping when she perceived that the gentleman was not handsome.

"It is I who should apologize, Madam," Basil uttered in a falsetto voice as soon as he was on his feet again, and realizing there were two ladies rather than one, he added: "and Madam! I hope no I have caused you no harm? Please accept my sincere apologies!"

While removing some twigs and leaves which had been lodged in his hair, buttonhole, pockets, etc... it occurred to him that the young ladies might mistake his blunder as a failed abduction attempt or whatever of the kind he had heard would happen on those paths. Quite hastily, he resumed: "I did not mean to disturb! I was just walking and... you probably should not go that way, by the way, it is not... the sights are not as pleasant... I guess..." and turned into a darker shade of red.

But why should they listen to a stranger? "Allow me to introduce myself," he continued without giving the ladies any chance to contradict or confirm his suspicions, "Basil Brett at your service," he bowed low, "I am a portrait painter." The latter he put an emphasis on, rather proud of himself for having remembered to use this opportunity to advertise for his trade, only coming to regret having done so just as he had finished the sentence. Basil Brett, the bush hugger!?Considering the incident, if these fine ladies happened to speak about him later on to their relatives or friends, that might as well be how they would address him! But it was too late to be regretful now, so he decided to change the subject instead:

"Lovely weather 'tis! Have you come for the concert?" Inhaling a deep breath, he grinned cheerfully, then as if remembering something, added: "if I may ask!"

The young man's fluster was really rather adorable. He was not so different from Hermione's brother or her brother's awkward friends. It was nice to know that not everybody in London was so very stiff.

She smiled kindly at him. "Please, Mr. Brett, think nothing of it. There is no harm done, is there, Pamela? I am Miss Longstaffe and this is my sister, Miss Pamela. It is our first time at Vauxhall so your warning is very kindly meant."

Not that she saw any signs of anything untoward (and would not have blushed much if she had - one did not get to twenty-seven in the countryside without knowing a great deal more than a nicely brought up young lady ought about the facts of life) but it was important to protect Pamela.

Pamela meanwhile was mortified at her sister's having exposed them as ignorant country bumpkins and new to town in that unfortunate phrase "first time at Vauxhall" and fidgeted, keen to change the subject and put them back on a more superior footing.

"We have certainly come for the concert!" she answered with an attempt at worldliness. "My sister and I are mightily fond of music. We were merely taking a stroll before taking our seats with the rest of the Quality."

"Have you also come for the concert?" asked Hermione more reasonably.

"This is my first time visiting Vauxhall Gardens too!" Basil explained with a wide grin, "well, almost... I don't remember much about the last one, I was too little you see," and with a semi stretched out hand, he proceeded to show the height of a hypothetical boy who could have been either a short ten year old or a tall seven year old, or somewhere in-between.

It was quite pleasant meeting people who were having their first walk at the gardens as well. It did not occur to him that they might be from the country, for as long as he remembered his own family had lived in London and they had only visited Vauxhall Gardens once, when by chance his father had received a pretty lucrative commission: coats for the whole five sons of a Viscount.

"I don't know much about music, I'm afraid, I do like it of course, but I couldn't tell composers' works from each other," he addressed one of the ladies politely and a bit timidly, before turning to the plumper sister - which he somehow felt he liked more - and resuming light-hearted tone: "indeed, it was my mother's idea that I should come to Vauxhall today! She insisted I should go absorb some culture and meet some pretty..." before letting his excitement get the better of him, however, Basil managed remedy his mistake with a few coughs, "yes, erm, that's what she said!"

Noticing their standing there like that might look a bit suspicious, he suggested: "may I perhaps accompany you through the rest of your walk? I don't think it would be appropriate if we stand here any longer. I could show you some of the paintings and sculptures perhaps?" He added the latter as if to promise he would be good company, eying the thin sister rather apprehensively. "If it will not anger your chaperone, of course," craning his neck to the left and to the right, he tried to spot an angry chaperone but couldn't see any, much to his relief.

Pamela's feelings were torn. On the one hand, being escorted around the gardens by a man was infinitely preferable to her sister; on the other hand, this man was not a gentleman, he was a rather plain painter.

She glanced at Hermione, stifling a giggle at the idea that Mr. Brett had not twigged the true state of affairs.

Hermione could not help feeling gratified. If this man did not take her for a chaperone then perhaps she did not as faded and on the shelf as she always felt at home. However, she would have to enlighten him - or would she?

"I assure you, sir, that such a kind offer does not meet with any anger on my part at least. I should very much like to see everything there is to see here!"

At that, each sister took one of his arms and they proceeded in that manner.

Basil was quite beside himself with excitement as he lead two ladies - who were not his relatives - through the garden's paths, although he had not quite comprehended Miss Longstaffe's remark. Why would she want to be angry when she was such a nice person!?

If only Robert was here to see this!

As they strolled on, beaming victoriously at the gentlemen who were accompanied by only one lady, he informed the girls all he knew about the paintings and sculptures as they appeared in their view, taking care not to miss any details that they might find interesting. From time to time he strayed from the main subject of discussion to narrate details of his family, until in a few minutes it was clear to his audience that his father was a tailor, so were his two elder brothers, that his mother was a domestic tyrant, and that one of his dreams was to visit Paris.

"How about you, Miss Longstaffe?" he then turned to the younger sister, "Miss Pamela? Have you ever travelled abroad?" again back to the elder sister, "or plan to do so?" Then an afterthought: "if you are not from abroad already?" They didn't look foreign, but one never knew. Some of the girls Stiles brought home claimed they belonged to impoverished French aristocracy, though they did not look it.

"You resemble a French lady I once saw in a painting, Miss Pamela," he said next, without having any idea why he had said so. Perhaps to please the lady, since they had not started on good terms, or maybe to introduce some weight to his previous argument.

For her part, Hermione was very much enjoying the evening. Mr. Brett was an agreeable companion and seemed to know so much about what there was to see in the gardens that she could hardly believe that he had never been there before. He also talked a great deal about himself and his life which Hermione found amusing especially because he did not seem to be aware of his loquaciousness. She spoke little, content to listen but Pamela interrupted a good deal. Every personal detail he tried to give she countered by turning the conversation towards herself.

Hermione laughed out loud when he asked if they were from abroad, while Pamela flushed and preened at being compared to a French lady, not that she understand what he meant.

"Dear me, no," replied Hermione. "We are only from Cheshire, close to Delamere. London is the furthest either of us have ever come."

"But our brother is in the Navy and has travelled all over the world!" added Pamela eagerly. "He brought me a parrot back from the West Indies once!"

Hermione remembered that parrot. It had bitten the housemaid, made her mother ill with its squawks and flown away after six days to everybody's great relief.

"A Parrot!? I say!" Basil's eyes widened as did his grin at hearing Miss Pamela's words, "did it talk? I've never seen a talking bird, but I wager they must be pretty valuable!" He remembered his father saying sometime that a friend of his had brought a talking parrot to his shop to attract more customers, but it had cost him a fortune to acquire it. Imagine having a talking parrot at the studio! The clients would never be bored!

Quite embarrassed that he had shown so much interest in the bird, he went on: "Cheshire must be very beautiful." Basil loved the sea, when standing on land, and the counties which were adjacent to it were his favourites. He voiced this interest like this: "all that endless blue you can stare at for hours! And the waves, never-tiring! What glory! What depth!" Somehow his own words sounded rather ridiculous to him. Strange! When Robert said such things, they always sounded so impressive!

"I should very much like to learn to swim, but my mother will not hear of it!" he added cheerfully, "apparently a gypsy has told her that one of her sons is going to drown in the sea, and she has made us all promise never to set our foot in the sea, unless on a boat! This last part we had a hard time bargaining for! I did tell her that my chances of drowning will lessen if I know how to swim, but she won't change her mind! Quite ironic don't you think?" Thankfully, he had enough presence of mind not to ask the ladies if they could swim or not, and instead inquired: "say, do you believe in gypsy predictions and the sort?"

"It did talk!" said Pamela at the same as Hermione who said, "Well, it squawked..."

Fortunately in Hermione's opinion at any rate, he changed the topic, though to one hardly less extraordinary. The sisters looked at each other in confusion across him as he waxed lyrical about the sea. Cheshire had a small coast but it was hardly picturesque. Unless ports and docks and barges full of cotton counted as picturesque. Hermione had seen the sea once when she had gone with her father to meet Frederick when he had arrived back at Liverpool, but Pamela never had.

Really, Mr. Brett did talk! Hermione thought with some amusement.

"Nobody has ever made me a prophecy I'm afraid," she replied with a rueful smile. "I'm not sure Papa would allow a gypsy near the house."