"Why, Stella had told me that you were riding the drift fence," she answered, tactfully ignoring the evasion of her question. "I just followed the fence. So there was no magic about it at all, you see."
"I'm not so sure about the magic," he returned slowly.
"This is such a wonderful country—to me—that one can never be quite sure about anything. At least, I can't. But perhaps that's because I am such a new thing."
"And do you like it?" she asked, frankly curious about him.
"Like being a new thing?" he parried. "Yes and No."
"I mean do you like this wonderful country, as you call it?"
"I admire the people who belong to it tremendously," he returned. "I never met such men before—or such women," he finished with a smile.
"But, do you like it?" she persisted. "Do you like the life—your work—would you be satisfied to live here always?"
"Yes and No," he answered again, hesitatingly.
"Oh, well," she said, with, he thought, a little bitterness and rebellion, "it doesn't really matter to you whether you like it or not, because you are a man. If you are not satisfied with your environment, you can leave it—go away somewhere else—make yourself a part of some other life."