Minna looked mournfully out to sea, and clasped her hands in her lap. A pathetic attitude, somewhat out of harmony with the daffodil toilette and the unblushing hat.
“Pleasures would be tolerable were it not that one has to live so as to enjoy them,” she said, after a pause.
“You have come by your pessimism early in life,” he observed.
“I’ve not had much to encourage optimism, as you may be aware, Mr. Merriam.”
“You had a bad bout, of course. So did we all,” said Gerard. “But you have had time to recover.”
“What are you going to do with your money?” she asked.
“Oh—I don’t know. Buy an estate in my own county—Norfolk—and settle down to squiredom. Breed stock and preserve pheasants and that sort of thing.”
“Will you be glad to get back?”
“I suppose so. Every one is, in a way. Wouldn’t you?”
“I loathe England and all that it contains too much,” she said with bitterness. “And I can’t understand your wanting to return, either.”