"Well, I didn't mean cured, either; I only meant solaced."
"But, Mr. March, I—why, my home-sickness is for all Dixie. I always knew I loved it, but I never knew how much till now."
"Miss Garnet!" softly exclaimed John with such a serious brightness of pure fellowship that Barbara dropped her gaze to her book.
"Isn't it right?" she asked, playfully.
"Right? If it isn't then I'm wrong from centre to circumference!"
"Why, I'm glad it's so com-pre-hen-sive-ly cor-rect."
The commercial traveler hid his smile.
"It's about all I learned at Montrose," she continued. "But, Mr. March, what is it in the South we Southerners love so? Mr. Fair asked me this morning and when I couldn't explain he laughed. Of course I didn't confess my hu-mil-i-a-tion; I intimated that it was simply something a North-ern-er can't un-der-stand. Wasn't that right?"
"Certainly! They can't understand it! They seem to think the South we love is a certain region and everything and everybody within its borders."
"I have a mighty dim idea where its Northern border is sit-u-a-ted."