"If I can, I think he MUST," returned Mainwaring, dryly. "By Jove, it
will be great fun to see him; but"--he stopped and hesitated--"I don't
know about the ladies. I don't think, you know, that they'll stand Minty
again before another stranger."

Bradley glanced quickly at the young man; their eyes met, and they both
joined in a superior and, I fear, disloyal smile. After a pause Bradley,
as if in a spirit of further confidence, took his pipe from his mouth
and pointed to the blue abyss before them.

"Look at that profundity, Mainwaring, and think of it ever being bullied
and overawed by a long veranda-load of gaping, patronizing tourists,
and the idiotic flirting females of their species. Think of a lot of
over-dressed creatures flouting those severe outlines and deep-toned
distances with frippery and garishness. You know how you have been
lulled to sleep by that delicious, indefinite, far-off murmur of
the canyon at night--think of it being broken by a crazy waltz or a
monotonous german--by the clatter of waiters and the pop of champagne
corks. And yet, by thunder, those women are capable of liking both and
finding no discord in them!"

"Dancing ain't half bad, you know," said Mainwaring, conscientiously,
"if a chap's got the wind to do it; and all Americans, especially the
women, dance better than we do. But I say, Bradley, to hear you talk,
a fellow wouldn't suspect you were as big a Vandal as anybody, with a
beastly, howling saw-mill in the heart of the primeval forest. By Jove,
you quite bowled me over that first day we met, when you popped your
head out of that delirium tremens shaking mill, like the very genius of
destructive improvement."