"Obviously," he replied. "I didn't. I hate a fellow who doesn't do things
himself, and has a way of looking on which makes you feel a perfect
idiot. Neither Mr. Mannering nor Mrs. Handsell--nor you--have been the
same since he was here."

"I gather," she said, softly, "that you do not find us improved."

"I do not," he answered, stolidly. "Mrs. Handsell has begun to talk to
you now about London, of the theatres, the dressmakers, Hurlingham,
Ranelagh, race meetings, society, and all that sort of rot. She talks of
them very cleverly. She knows how to make the tinsel sparkle like real
gold."

She laughed softly.

"You are positively eloquent, Richard," she declared. "Do go on!"

"Then she goes for your uncle," he continued, without heeding her
interruption. "She speaks of Parliament, of great causes, of ambition,
until his eyes are on fire. She describes new pleasures to you, and you
sit at her feet, a mute worshipper! I can't think why she ever came here.
She's absolutely the wrong sort of woman for a quiet country place like
this. I wish I'd never let her the place."

"You are a very foolish person," she answered. "She came here simply
because she was weary of cities and wanted to get as far away from them
as possible. Only last night she said that she would be content never to
breathe the air of a town again."