"I wonder you don't live in the country."

"I know what you mean. But you're wrong. One feels even more out of it
there."

She gave him his cup gently, with a movement that implied care for his
comfort, almost a thoughtful, happy service.

"The Rector is embarrassed, his wife appalled. The Doctor's 'lady,' much
as she longs for one's guineas, tries to stop him even from attending
one's dying bed. The Squire, though secretly interested to fervour, is
of course a respectable man. He is a 'stay' to country morality, and his
wife is a pair of stays. The neighbours respond in their dozens to the
_mot d'ordre_, and there one is _plantée_, like a lonely white moon
encircled by a halo of angry fire. Dear acquaintance, I've tried it.
Egypt--Omaha--anything would be better. What are you eating? Have one of
these little cakes. They really are good. I ordered them specially for
you and our small festivity."

She was smiling as she handed him the plate.

"I should think Egypt would be better!" exclaimed Nigel, with a strength
and a vehemence that contrasted almost startlingly with her light,
half-laughing tone. "Why don't you go there? Why don't you try the free
life?"

"Live among the tribes, like Lady Hester Stanhope in the Lebanon? I'm
afraid I could never train myself to wear a turban. Besides, Egypt is
fearfully civilized now. Every one goes there. I should be cut all up