"Well, outwardly it is very different, of course."
"Different! I should think so," said Val, impulsively.
"Outwardly different," repeated John Gano. "I should think the spirit as well—the point of view utterly alien from ours."
"I believe I'd like Europe," said the sympathetic Emmie, "but Val's been wondering a great deal how you could bear it so long, especially after your grandfather was dead, and you could do as you liked."
Mrs. Gano sat very straight, not joining in the conversation at this point, but succeeding to admiration in conveying her opinions.
"I dare say," explained John Gano; "there has been some not altogether unnatural fear that the Old World might infect even you, as it has done other good Americans."
"How is that?"
John Gano shook his lion locks ominously. Ethan looked at his grandmother. Her slow head-shake set the white veil waving. Evidently, whatever the danger might be, it was something too hideous for words. He looked at Val. She turned away her eyes. The infected one began to smile involuntarily. His youngest cousin alone of that patriotic company looked at him with no shadow of misgiving.
"There's a young man belongs to this town," she said, beginning in gentle explanatory tones, but waxing indignant as she went on, "and his name's Jimmie Battle—used to be quite a nice young man. Grandma knew his father's father—"