'For the last four months, Squire, I have been doing two things with neither of which had you much sympathy in old days—holiday-making and "slumming."'
'Oh, I remember,' interrupted the squire hastily. 'I was low last week, and read the Church papers by way of a counter-irritant. You have been starting a new religion, I see. A new religion! Humph!'
The great head fell forward, and through the dusk Robert caught the sarcastic gleam of the eyes.
'You are hardly the man to deny,' he said, undisturbed, 'that the old ones laissent à désirer.'
'Because there are old abuses, is that any reason why you should go and set up a brand-new one—an ugly anachronism besides,' retorted the squire. 'However, you and I have no common ground—never had. I say know, you say feel. Where is the difference, after all, between you and any charlatan of the lot? Well, how is Madame de Netteville?'
'I have not seen her for six months,' Robert replied, with equal abruptness.
The squire laughed a little under his breath.
'What did you think of her?'
'Very much what you told me to think—intellectually,' replied Robert, facing him, but flushing with the readiness of physical delicacy.