“Come down from that tree, Nina. Somebody might come out from the house and you would be remarked.”
“This is a very nice country,” she returned, cheerfully and irrelevantly.
“I am glad you like it.”
“That is a fine house,” she said, waving her hand toward the stone erection beyond them. “It is a pleasant thing to have a butler and footmen and plenty of maids.”
He grunted something inaudible, and stared up pityingly at the white cloud among the glowing leaves above him.
“And to know how to pour out tea so nicely and properly, and talk about the theatres and the royal family, and the news from the Continent, and our American cousins, and never do anything wrong or think anything improper, and be admired and sought after, and love everybody and have everybody love you.”
He smoked on in grim silence, until she asked, tenderly, “Captain Fordyce, can you ever build me a house like that?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, derisively.
“Can you give me a carriage lined with gray cushions, with a clock in it, and a hand-glass, and cunning little footstools?”
He would not answer her.