"Is it?" said Horsham doubtfully. "I didn't really think much of it myself; it was only that I did learn it once and couldn't forget it. Still, of course it is by Longfellow."
"Yes, I know. I like Longfellow myself. Pam and Norman pretend they don't. But Pam loves that particular poem. If you'd say it over to her—!"
"Well, I don't know that I should care about doing that. I expect she knows so much more poetry than I do."
"You could get her to talk about poetry and then just bring it out casually. Say you think it's so salient—that's the way she and Norman talk—and then say it over. I think she'd be pleased at finding you liked something that she did."
"Well, perhaps I might do that. What word did you say—salient?"
"Yes, or basic. That's another word they use a good deal. Perhaps you might bring them both in."
"Oh, I don't pretend to be learned in that sort of way. And as a matter of fact I don't really care much for poetry and all that sort of thing. I'm like you: I like facts."
Judith, having laid her train, returned to serious conversation. "I don't know why one should be ashamed of it," she said. "But I do keep my actual tastes rather dark before Pam. Of course she's much cleverer than I am, and I don't mind her poking fun at me a bit; in fact I rather enjoy it. But you're the first person I've ever confessed to that I really like dates and things of that sort. I find them—refreshing. Do you feel that too?"
Horsham's face lit up. It seemed that he did, and that he had never forgotten those of the Kings and Queens of England, which he had also learnt in childhood. They recited them together, with mutual pleasure, in a sort of measured chant, and laughed heartily when they had done so.