"Now," said he, "to fresh woods and pastures new, and a song of the open road!... Which way shall we go?"
Cally hesitated.
"I'm sorry, Hugo--but I think I should like to go home, if you don't mind."
"Home?"
"I really don't feel quite like a drive now. I'm very sorry--"
Canning gazed down at her in dismay.
"I knew you didn't feel quite yourself yet. You couldn't deceive me ... But don't let's go home! Why, this air is the very thing you need, Carlisle. It will set you up in no time."
But no, she seemed to think that was not what she needed, nor were her doubts removed by several further arguments from him.
Canning sat back in the care with an Early Christian expression. She had said, not five minutes ago, that she felt perfectly well; perfectly well she looked. Was it imaginable that she really took seriously the absurd little smatterings of new-womanism she had picked up, God knew where, while waiting for love to come?...
"Carlisle," he began, patiently, "I understand your feelings perfectly, of course, and natural enough they are to a girl brought up as you've been. At the same time, I'm not willing to leave you feeling disgusted with your father's methods of--"