“I don’t think that two can talk with comfort on even the most indifferent subjects when there is total absence of trust between them.”
“Is that our position?” he asked uneasily.
“Is it not? I have taken trouble to give you an explanation, and you do not believe a word of it.”
“Do not let us discuss that matter.”
“It is there,” said Anne.
Both were silent. A boat came towards them, shattering the tranquil golden lights of the fjord; a few strong strokes brought it up to the landing-place, and half-a-dozen English sprang out, two young girls among them. They looked tired, carried alpenstocks, and called out a gay good-night to the rowers. They had just come back from a hard climb to the Skjaeggedalsfos, and were almost too weary to be enthusiastic. The boat pushed away again into the shining waters, the sound of the oars died into silence. Presently Anne spoke, ignoring their last words.
“The difference between north and south is curiously strong—forgive a truism! What I meant to remark was the different call they make upon oneself. Here there is a good deal of enjoyment to be met with, and it is exactly the opposite kind of enjoyment to what one finds in Italy or Greece. Do you feel this? Since we landed, I believe I have hardly thought a thought or encountered an idea.”
“My own sensation,” Wareham answered eagerly. “It has been like taking out one’s brains, and leaving them with one’s plate at the bankers. The odd thing is, that I don’t miss them.” He laughed.
She went on—
“I have wondered more than once how long it would take to settle down to existence in one of those isolated little villages of two or three houses each which we passed on the Suldal lake?”