"Tell me, America, do you have much weather as fine as this?"
"We have Indian summer in this country, if that's what you mean."
He looked so well against the pillar. Val longed to take up some nonchalant attitude by the one nearest her, but she remembered it was black with the all-pervading coal-dust, and forbore being picturesque at the price.
"Of course," Ethan assented. "I'd forgotten you had a fifth season in your calendar. Naturally, the old regulation four wouldn't content you."
"I can't think why you talk as if you weren't an American yourself. You might be some poor foreigner—"
"Just what I am, I'm afraid."
"You?"
He nodded.
"That's the worst of living abroad a lot," he said: "you are always a foreigner there. But it's only when you come home, and find that you are more of a foreigner than ever, that you begin to mind."
"You don't look as if you minded much."