“Yes, for a day or two, I suppose. I do not know whether I shall pass another winter here. Indeed, one can never say where one will be.”
“No, one can’t; such as you, at least, cannot. I am not of a migratory tribe myself.”
“I wish you were.”
“I’m not a bit obliged to you. Your nomade life does not agree with young ladies.”
“I think they are taking to it pretty freely, then. We have unprotected young women all about the world.”
“And great bores you find them, I suppose?”
“No; I like it. The more we can get out of old-fashioned grooves the better I am pleased. I should be a radical to-morrow—a regular man of the people,—only I should break my mother’s heart.”
“Whatever you do, Lord Lufton, do not do that.”
“That is why I have liked you so much,” he continued, “because you get out of the grooves.”
“Do I?”