"This creed seems to have more than its share then," he says amusedly. "Your rooms are perfection, I allow—your toilette is like a Greek poet's dream; but I confess I see no other like it."
"You are very kind to say so," she murmurs, with an inward congratulation that fate had saved her from the terra-cotta gown which, in a fit of "exaggeration," she had ordered. "But I wanted to ask you about yourself. Our conversation seems very one-sided. Have you returned to England for good?"
"I don't know," he says, somewhat embarrassed. "It will depend on one or two things. I don't know if I am quite fit for civilized life again. It seems to want the air, the freedom, the unconventionally, the long nights spent under no roof but heaven's, the excitement of sport that may mean death at any moment, the thrill of danger, the hazard of battle—thirteen years of such a life make one rather impatient of your effeminate doctrines, don't you think?"
"Yes," she says, with a little soft thrill at her heart at the ring of the manly voice, at the look in the dark, fearless eyes; "I suppose it does. But there is no need for you to follow the creed. I was only explaining."
"And I don't seem to have heard half enough about it," he answers seriously. "What, are you going?"
"I must," she says, rising from her seat. "The recitation is over. What a pity you did not listen. Don't you like Browning?"
"I might if I could understand him," says the Colonel, rising also and looking somewhat disturbed at the interruption to their conversation. "I always sympathize with that unfortunate man in 'The Golden Butterfly'; do you remember? The American who sits up all night to study Browning's works because he expects him to dinner."
Lady Etwynde laughs.
"Yes, poor fellow, and he set himself such an easy task. He meant to read through the whole collection in the course of one evening. Though Americans pride themselves on doing 'big things,' I fancy that was rather beyond him. By the way, do you like Americans? I will introduce you to a charming girl if you do, and she is not one of the æsthetic school, so you needn't be alarmed that she will afflict you with 'art jargon.'"
"I shall be very happy," murmured the Colonel, "only, really——"