"What a horrible place it must be!" said Enid, with a little shiver.
"You think so? It is my home."
There was an accent in his voice which impressed Enid painfully. She clasped her hands rather tightly together in her lap, and said, after another pause, in a lower tone—
"I dare say I should grow fond of it if I lived there."
"As you will do, in time," said Hubert, with a smile. "You must try to believe that you will soon be as absorbed in town-life as every other woman; that concerts and theatres and balls will make up for green fields and the songs of birds; that men are more interesting than brooks and flowers; that to shop and to gossip are livelier occupations than visiting the poor and teaching little Dick. Don't you think you can imagine it?"
"I can't imagine it; but, if I had to do it, I would try. I don't think your picture is very attractive, if I may say so, Hubert."
"Don't you, dear? Why not?"
"It sounds so unreal. Do women pass their lives in that frivolous, vapid way?"
"Not all of them, of course. There are women who have work to do," said Hubert, looking idly into the distance, as if he were thinking of some one or something that he could not see.