She ignored this remark, and the silence remained unbroken for some time. At length, she said abruptly: “If Father hadn’t married again, I expect I should have stayed here all my life.”
“Do you say that in a complaining spirit, or are you acknowledging your indebtedness to Faith?” he inquired.
“I could never play second fiddle to anyone,” she said. “Oh, I wouldn’t choose to come back, now that I have experienced a fuller life!”
He looked amused, but refrained from making any reply. She was looking out of the window, and presently remarked in her urgent way: “All the same, this country has a hold over one! I shall tramp up to Rough Tor, and Brown Gilly. Oh, the smell of the peat!”
“Do you find scents nostalgic?” he asked languidly. “They don’t have that effect on me at all.”
“The peat-stacks on the Moor, and the wild blocks of granite, and the still pools!” she said, disregarding him. “The white bedstraw under one’s feet, and the sharp scent of the thyme! Oh, there is no place on earth quite the same!”
“Darling, ought you to be quite so sentimental?” he asked solicitously. “I mean, it makes one feel slightly ill-at-ease. Besides, one has such a different conception of you.”
She gave a reluctant laugh. “You needn’t worry!”
“I do hope you are right, but I have the gravest misgivings. Oh, not about you, sweetie! Eugene wrote that Father has developed a most oppressive desire to gather us all together under the parental roof, and to keep us there.”
“Thank God I’m independent of Father!” said Charmian.