Mr. Vandewaters and Gracia Raglan talked more freely than they had ever
done before.
"Do you really like England?" she said to him; then, waving her hand
lightly to the beeches and the clean-cropped grass through the window, "I
mean do you like our 'trim parterres,' our devotion to mere living,
pleasure, sport, squiring, and that sort of thing?"
He raised his head, glanced out, drew in a deep breath, thrust his hands
down in the pockets of his coat, and looking at her with respectful good
humour, said: "Like it? Yes, right down to the ground. Why shouldn't I!
It's the kind of place I should like to come to in my old days. You
needn't die in a hurry here. See?"
"Are you sure you would not be like the old sailors who must live where
they can scent the brine? You have been used to an active, adventurous,
hurried life. Do you think you could endure this humdrum of enjoyment?"
It would be hard to tell quite what was running in Gracia Raglan's mind,
and, for the moment, she herself hardly knew; but she had a sudden,
overmastering wish to make the man talk: to explore and, maybe, find
surprising--even trying--things. She was astonished that she enjoyed his
society so keenly. Even now, as she spoke, she remembered a day and a
night since his coming, when he was absent in London; also how the party
seemed to have lost its character and life, and how, when Mr.
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