"Oh, well enough."
"No more?" he said. "They wouldn't have broken your spell so, if that had been all. Do you know I actually believe in enchantments now?"
I was indignant, but amused in spite of myself.
"Well," he continued, "why don't you say it? How impertinent am I? You won't? Why don't you laugh, then?"
"Dear me!" I replied. "You are so much on the 'subtle-souled-psychologist' line, that there's no need of my speaking at all."
"I can carry on all the dialogue? Then let me say how you liked the
Islands."
"I shall do no such thing. I liked the West Indies because there is life there; because the air is a firmament of balm, and you grow in it like a flower in the sun; because the fierce heat and panting winds wake and kindle all latent color, and fertilize every germ of delight that might sleep here forever. That's why I liked them; and you knew it just as well before as now."
"Yes; but I wanted to see if you knew it. So you think there is life there in that dead Atlantis."
"Life of the elements, rain, hail, fire, and snow."
"Snow thrice bolted by the northern blast, I fancy, by which time it becomes rather misty. Exaggerated snow."