"Oh," she said, "scenery is my particular fad. But this is too tame for me. You should see my Cleveshire moors and dales!"
His silence, in some inscrutable way, conveyed to her the idea of extreme mortification.
"Do you mean," he presently asked, "that you wouldn't care to live in this part of England?"
"I shouldn't choose it," she replied carelessly. "But then, I have no links with it. I quite appreciate your reason for choosing it."
"You do?"
"Undoubtedly. Your ancestry drew their living from this soil; they ate the corn it grew, the cattle it fed. In a real sense, you are part of this little bit of little England. There must be something in you that is in mysterious sympathy with it."
"That's how I feel," he replied, as though gratified to be so interpreted by her. "But I admire the country for itself too; it seems a great pleasure-ground—a sort of park laid out by God Almighty."
"I like more mystery, more wildness."
"I've had enough wildness," he answered very determinedly. "I like this because of its cultivation and fertility and order."
"I'd like to show you Fransdale," she said, smiling.