"Yes," he says, with energy, "it never looks so well as just at this time of year."
"So I should think."
A long pause.
"English scenery is always at its best in the autumn. After all, there is no place like England—I mean, of course for a continuance. Don't you agree with me, darling?"
"I do indeed. Dear Briersley Wood! How fond Billy and I were of it. You remember the clump of nut-trees, 'Duke?"
"Is it likely I should forget it?" sentimentally. "For my own part, I think the wood on the other side of Strangemore handsomer than Briersley; but of course it was too far away from Summerleas for you to know it well."
Another pause, longer than the last, and more eloquent.
"How I should like to see it—now!" I murmur, with faint emphasis and a heroically suppressed sigh.
"Would you really?" rising eagerly, and coming into the embrasure of the window. "Would you like to get back, darling? Not yet for a little while, of course," with quick correction, "but later on, when—-"
"I would like to start at once," I cry, frankly, flinging hesitation to the winds; "as soon as possible. I am longing to see every one; and you know, 'Duke," sweetly, "I have yet to make a near acquaintance with our home."