“Yes,” answered Paul simply, with that calm which only comes with hereditary possession.
The observation attracted Steinmetz’s attention. He went to another window, and looked across the waste critically.
“Four times as far as we can see is his,” he said.
Etta looked out slowly and comprehensively, absorbing it all like a long, sweet drink. There was no hereditary calmness in her sense of possession.
“And where is Thors?” she asked.
Paul stretched out his arm, pointing with a lean, steady finger:
“It lies out there,” he answered.
Another of the little incidents that are only half forgotten. Some of the persons assembled in that room remembered the pointing finger long afterward.
“It makes one feel very small,” said Etta, turning to the breakfast-table—“at no time a pleasant sensation. Do you know,” she said, after a little pause, “I think it probable that I shall become very fond of Osterno, but I wish it was nearer to civilization.”
Paul looked pleased. Steinmetz had a queer expression on his face. Maggie murmured something about one’s surroundings making but little difference to one’s happiness, and the subject was wisely shelved.