"So we have come to the country on the other side of the hills at last," she said to him, as they were watching one of the wonderful Mershire sunsets and drinking in its beauty. "I always knew it was there, but sometimes I gave up all hope of ever finding it for myself."
Christopher took her hand and began playing with the capable artist-fingers. "And is it as nice a country as you expected, sweetheart?"
"As nice as I expected? I should just think it is. I knew that in the country over the hills I should find all the beautiful things I had imagined as a child and all the lovely things I had longed for as a woman; and that, if only I could reach it, all the fairy-tales would come true. But now that I have reached it, I find that the fairy-tales fell far short of the reality, and that it is a million times nicer than I ever imagined anything could be."
"Darling, I am glad you are so happy. But it beats me how such a stupid fellow as I am can make you so."
"Well, you do, and that's all that matters. Nobody can tell how they do things; they only know that they can do them. I don't know how I can paint pictures any more than you know how you can turn smoky ironworks into the country over the hills. But we can, and do; which shows what clever people we are, in spite of ourselves."
"I think the cleverness lies with you in both cases—in your wonderful powers of imagination, my dear."
"Do you? Then that shows how little you know about it."
Christopher put his arm round her. "I always was stupid, you know; you have told me so with considerable frequency."
"Oh! so you were; but you were never worse than stupid."
"That's a good thing; for stupidity is a misfortune rather than a fault."