“Dear me!” said Mrs. Lane, weakly. “It seems a strange hope!”
Robin laughed softly. Dr. Lane decided that he liked the sound.
“You have had an unlucky beginning,” she said. “It really isn’t fair to judge our country when you try to kill yourself on the very first day. Wait until you see the bush in the early morning, before the mists rise—”
“Never!” said Mrs. Lane, firmly. “I dislike seeing anything before breakfast—and not too soon after! I like well-paved streets, without precipices, nicely furnished with electric trams. I can’t see any fun whatever in driving along a mantelshelf on the side of a hill. It makes me afraid: and it is so lowering to one’s pride to feel afraid!”
“But if, before you had the shelf on the side of the hill, you had no road at all, you would look at it differently,” said Robin, laughing. “We regard our road with respect and affection—especially the metalled part!”
“Is there a metalled part?” queried Mrs. Lane. “I hadn’t noticed any. It seemed to me all a terrible series of bumps and pot-holes.”
“You expect altogether too much when you come to the country,” her husband said. “It would do you good to lead the simple life for awhile. I’m sure Miss Hurst could show you how.”
Mrs. Lane shuddered.
“We are giving Miss Hurst and her mother quite enough trouble as it is,” she said, hastily. She gave a sudden gasp. “My dear, have you had measles?”
“Yes.” Robin looked surprised at the sudden query. “Why?”