She shook her head. "Oh, I dread the whole idea. Dad's heart is set on it, and I shall go to please him. But I shan't enjoy it. I'm not up to England."
"Nonsense."
"No, I'm not. I'm unsophisticated—crude, really—just a girl of the Islands."
"But you wouldn't care to stay here all your life?"
"No, indeed. It's a beautiful spot—to loll about in. But I've too much northern blood to be satisfied with that. One of these days I want dad to sell and we'll go to the mainland. I could get some sort of work—"
"Any particular place on the mainland?"
"Well, I haven't been about much, of course. But all the time I was at school I kept thinking I'd rather live in San Francisco than anywhere else in the world—"
"Good," John Quincy cried. "That's my choice too. You remember that morning on the ferry, how you held out your hand to me and said: 'Welcome to your city—'"
"But you corrected me at once. You said you belonged in Boston."
"I see my error now."