"What was the charm? I do not know Appledore," said Mrs. Barclay carelessly, but watching her.
"It is difficult to put some things in words. I seemed to be out of the world of everyday life, and surrounded by what was pure and fresh and powerful and beautiful—it all comes back to me now, when I think of the surf breaking on the rocks, and the lights and colours, and the feeling of the air."
"But how were the people? were they uncommon too? Part of one's impression is apt to come from the human side of the thing."
"Mine did not. The people of the Islands are queer, rough people, almost as strange as all the rest; but I saw more of some city people staying at the hotel; and they did not fit the place at all."
"Why not?"
"They did not enjoy it. They did not seem to see what I saw, unless they were told of it; nor then either."
"Well, you must come in and let me teach you to draw," said Mrs. Barclay. "I shall want to feel that I have some occupation, or I shall not be happy. Perhaps your sister will come too."
"Madge? O, thank you! how kind of you! I do not know whether Madge ever thought of such a thing."
"You are the man of business of the house. What is she?"
"Madge is the dairywoman, and the sempstress. But we all do that."