glimpses of pink and blue and white and brown, continued to talk about
England and America in relation to each other and everything else under
the sun.

Presently through a distant gate the two small boys were momentarily
visible wheeling small but serviceable bicycles, followed after a little
interval by the German tutor. Then an enormous grey cat came slowly
across the garden court, and sat down to listen respectfully to Mr.
Britling. The afternoon sky was an intense blue, with little puff-balls
of cloud lined out across it.

Occasionally, from chance remarks of Mr. Britling's, Mr. Direck was led
to infer that his first impressions as an American visitor were being
related to his host, but as a matter of fact he was permitted to relate
nothing; Mr. Britling did all the talking. He sat beside his guest and
spirted and played ideas and reflections like a happy fountain in the
sunshine.

Mr. Direck sat comfortably, and smoked with quiet appreciation the one
after-lunch cigar he allowed himself. At any rate, if he himself felt
rather word-bound, the fountain was nimble and entertaining. He listened
in a general sort of way to the talk, it was quite impossible to follow
it thoughtfully throughout all its chinks and turnings, while his eyes
wandered about the garden and went ever and again to the flitting
tennis-players beyond the green. It was all very gay and comfortable and
complete; it was various and delightful without being in the least
_opulent_; that was one of the little secrets America had to learn. It
didn't look as though it had been made or bought or cost anything, it
looked as though it had happened rather luckily....