And turns the sweet, which doth us bless,
To bitterness.[bitterness.]”
“Your Elizabethan ancestor was not healthy-minded,” said Caliphronas coolly; “if he had been he would never have written such silly verses. It is your unhealthy life, your unhealthy bodies, which breed such restlessness in you.”
“At all events, that restlessness has made England what she is,” replied the Rector, rather nettled at the rudeness of the Greek.
“A land of money-worship, a land of noisy steam-engines, a land of poverty and wealth—extremes in both cases. Yes, I quite believe your restless spirit has brought you to this satisfactory state of things. Come, sir,” added the Count, with a charming smile, seeing the Rector was rather annoyed, “let us agree to differ. For me, Greece—for you, England; for me, Nature—for you, Art. Two parallel straight lines cannot meet.”
Carriston laughed at this way of settling the question, but made no further remarks, and after a desultory conversation between all four gentlemen had ensued, they went into the drawing-room to join the ladies.
Mrs. Dengelton was engaged on her everlasting fancywork; and Eunice, with a rather disconsolate look on her face, was idly turning over the pages of a book. Crispin stole quietly behind her and glanced over her shoulder. It was a volume of his poems, and he felt flattered.
“And to think,” said Mrs. Dengelton, without further prelude, “that you will be so far away from home to-morrow.”
“The world is my home,” cried Caliphronas gayly.
“We Englishmen are narrower in our ideas,” observed Maurice dryly; “we look on England as our home.”