As it happened, he took her for a drive among the Stanley pines one mild afternoon a few days later, and though she knew she would regret his departure she was unusually friendly. Vane rejoiced at it, but he had already decided that he must endeavour to proceed with caution and content himself in the meanwhile with the part of trusted companion. For this reason, he chatted lightly, which he felt was safer, during most of the drive, but he once or twice responded without reserve when, by chance or design, she asked a leading question.
“I wonder if you ever feel any regret at having left England for this country,” she said.
“I did so pretty often when I first came out,” he answered. “In those days, I had to work in icy water, and carry massive lumps of rock.”
“I dare say regret was a very natural feeling then; but that wasn’t quite what I meant.”
“So I supposed,” Vane confessed. “Well, I’d better own that when I spent a week or two in England—at the Dene—I began to think I missed a good deal by not staying at home. It struck me that the life you led had a singular charm. Everything went so smoothly there among the sheltering hills. One felt that care and anxiety could not creep in. Somehow the place reminded me of Avalon.”
“The impression was by no means correct,” said Evelyn. “But I don’t think you have finished. Won’t you go on?”
“Then if I get out of my depth you mustn’t blame me. By and by I discovered that charm wasn’t the right word—the place was permeated with a narcotic spell.”
“Narcotic?” said Evelyn. “Do you think the term’s more appropriate?”
“I do,” Vane declared, “Narcotics, one understands, are insidious things. If you take them regularly, in small doses, they increase their hold on you, until you become wrapped up in dreams and unrealities. If, however, you get too big a dose at the beginning, it leads to a vigorous revulsion. It’s nature’s warning and remedy.”
“You’re not flattering,” said Evelyn. “But I almost fancy you are right.”