Marjolaine turned. "Different what is?"
"Why, if I 'd met an old gentleman outside his house in Spain, and he 'd seen how I was suffering, he 'd have said his house was mine."
Marjolaine indignantly came down one step. "I am not an old gentleman; I haven't any house in Spain; and it's a shame to say I 'm inhospitable!"
Jack's face wore an inscrutable smile. He protested. "I didn't. I only said it was different."
Marjolaine came back to the gate.
"Are you really suffering?" she asked.
Jack turned away to hide an unmistakable grin. He spoke in a hollow voice. "Intolerably." Then he turned to her with a haggard countenance. "Look at my face!"
Marjolaine came out of the gate. Ah, Marjolaine! The moth and the candle!
"I can't ask you in, because Maman and Nanette are out."
Jack staggered to the seat under the elm, and sank on it like a man in the last stage of exhaustion. "It's of no consequence. I must row back. Seven miles. Against the tide. Ah, well!"