“Now off you go, my Lady Mount Rorke,” said Sally, who had already begun to regret her promises, and to consider if she had not better break them.
Maggie asked him what train he came down by, then she called the dog; “Come here, my beautiful boy, come and kiss me.” The bull-dog growled and wagged his tail.
“He won't hurt you; 'tis only his way of talking.”
Maggie laughed, and they walked out on the green sward. “I suppose you've been to a great many balls this season?”
“I don't know that I have; a few, perhaps. I am glad to get away from town. I like no place like this. I don't know if it is the place or the associations.”
“You are used to much finer places. I can fancy Mount Rorke—the lakes and the mountains; somehow I think I can see it. Isn't it strange, there are certain things and places you can realise so much better than others, and for no very understandable reason?”
“Yes, that is so,” said Frank, obviously pleased by the remark. Then, after a pause, “Mount Rorke is a pretty place, and I don't think I could live long away from it. After a time I always find myself sighing for the bleakness and barrenness of the West. The hedgerows of England are pretty enough; but I hate the brick buildings.”
“What kind of buildings do you have in Ireland?”
“Everything is built of grey stone, a cold grey tint on a background of green pasture lands and blue mountains. I daresay you wouldn't like it. It would recall nothing to you, but when I think of it, much less see it, I re-live my childhood all over again. I am a great person for old times. That is the reason I like coming down here. I knew you all so long ago; how well I can remember you—three dark little things. You used to sit on my knee.”
“And do you find nothing nice in the present?”