Billie’s eye had lost its cheerful friendliness. A somewhat feline expression had taken its place.
“Pretty well,” she replied.
“You don’t like it?”
“Well, the way I look at it is this. It’s no use grumbling. One has got to realise that in England one is in a savage country, and one should simply be thankful one isn’t eaten by the natives.”
“What makes you call England a savage country?” demanded Sam, a staunch patriot, deeply stung.
“What would you call a country where you can’t get ice, central heating, corn-on-the-cob, or bathrooms? My father and Mr. Mortimer have just taken a house down on the coast and there’s just one niggly little bathroom in the place.”
“Is that your only reason for condemning England?”
“Oh no, it has other drawbacks.”
“Such as?”
“Well, Englishmen, for instance. Young Englishmen in particular. English young men are awful! Idle, rude, conceited, and ridiculous.”