“Oh,” she said, awed; “isn’t it wonderful?”
“I knew you’d like it.”
“The East has nothing like this,” she said, with a broad sweep of the hand.
“No,” he said.
She turned on him triumphantly. “There!” she declared; “you have committed yourself. You are from the East!”
“Well,” he said; “I’ve never denied it.”
Something vague and subtle had drawn them together during the ride, bridging the hiatus of strangeness, making them feel that they had been acquainted long. It did not seem impertinent to her that she should ask the question that she now put to him—she felt that her interest in him permitted it:
“You are an easterner, and yet you have been out here for about ten years. Your house is big and substantial, but I should judge that it has no comforts, no conveniences. You live there alone, except for some men, and you have male servants—if you have any. Why should you bury yourself here? You are educated, you are young. There are great opportunities for you in the East!”
She paused, for she saw a cynical expression in his eyes.
“Well?” she said, impatiently, for she had been very much in earnest.