'You're at least typically English in one respect,' she said.
'Oh, unkind lady! To announce it to me in this sudden way. Then my life's a failure.'
'I mean in your fondness for long walks.'
'Ah, then you're totally in error. I hate long walks.'
'But it's a good ten kilometres to and from your house; and you do it every morning.'
'That's only because there aren't any omnibuses or cabs or things. And' (he reminded himself that if she was that sort, he might be bold) 'I'm irresistibly attracted here.'
'It's very pretty,' she admitted, and rode on.
He looked after her, grinding his teeth. Was she that sort? 'One never can tell. Her face is so fine—so noble even.'
The next day, 'Yes, I suppose it's very pretty. But I wasn't thinking of Nature,' he informed her, as she approached.
She drew up.