My wife broke off from the account she was giving me of her visit: "You
can imagine how pleasant all this was for me, Basil, and how anxious I
was to prolong my call!"

"Well," I returned, "there were compensations. It was extremely
interesting; it was life. You can't deny that, my dear."

"It was more like death. Several times I was on the point of going, but
you know when there's been a painful scene you feel so sorry for the
people who've made it that you can't bear to leave them to themselves. I
did get up to go, once, in mere self-defence, but they both urged me to
stay, and I couldn't help staying till they could talk of other things.
But now tell me what you think of it all. Which should your feeling be
with the most? That is what I want to get at before I tell you mine."

"Which side was I on when we talked about them last?"

"Oh, when did we talk about them _last_? We are always talking about
them! I am getting no good of the summer at all. I shall go home in the
fall more jaded and worn out than when I came. To think that we should
have this beautiful place, where we could be so happy and comfortable,
if it were not for having this abnormal situation under our nose and
eyes all the time!"

"Abnormal? I don't call it abnormal," I began, and I was sensible of my
wife's thoughts leaving her own injuries for my point of view so swiftly
that I could almost hear them whir.

"Not abnormal!" she gasped.