"How can people build and live in such ugly places?" she said at last, standing still that she might stare about her—"when there are such lovely things in the world; Cambridge, for instance—or—Bannisdale."
The last word slipped out, dreamily, unaware.
The lad's face flushed furiously.
"I don't know what there is to see in Bannisdale," he said hotly. "It's a damp, dark, beastly hole of a place."
"I prefer Bannisdale to this, thank you," said Laura, making a little face at the very ample bronze gentleman in a frock coat who was standing in the centre of a great new-built empty square, haranguing a phantom crowd. "Oh! how ugly it is to succeed—to have money!"
Mason looked at her with a half-puzzled frown—a frown that of late had begun to tease his handsome forehead habitually.
"What's the harm of having a bit of brass?" he said angrily. "And what's the beauty o' livin in an old ramshackle place, without a sixpence in your pocket, and a pride fit to bring you to the workhouse!"
Laura's little mouth showed amusement, an amusement that stung. She lifted a little fan that hung at her girdle.
"Is there any shade in Froswick?" she said, looking round her.
Mason was silenced, and as Polly and Mr. Seaton joined them, he recovered his temper with a mighty effort and once more set himself to do the honours—the slighted honours—of his new home.