ignify. I've another at home."

"Another summer-house?" he more lightly suggested.

"A copy of Mr. Hoppus."

"Mercy, how you go in for him! Fancy having two!"

"He sent me the number of the magazine, and the other's the one that
comes every month."

"Every month; I see"--but his manner justified considerably her charge
of vagueness. They had reached the stile and he leaned over it, looking
at a great mild meadow and at the browsing beasts in the distance.

"Did you suppose they come every day?" Julia went on.

"Dear no, thank God!" They remained there a little; he continued to look
at the animals and before long added: "Delightful English pastoral
scene. Why do they say it won't paint?"

"Who says it won't?"

"I don't know--some of them. It will in France; but somehow it won't
here."

"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Dallow demanded.

He appeared unable to satisfy her on this point; instead of answering
her directly he at any rate said: "Is Broadwood very charming?"

"Have you never been there? It shows how you've treated me. We used to
go there in August. George had ideas about it," she added. She had never
affected not to speak of her late husband, especially with Nick, whose
kinsman he had in a manner been and who had liked him better than some
others did.

"George had ideas about a great many things."

Yet she appeared conscious it would be rather odd on such an occasion to
take this up. It was even odd in Nick to have said it. "Broadwood's just
right," she returned at last. "It's neither too small nor too big, and
it takes care of itself. There's nothing to be done: you can't spend a
penny."

"And don't you want to use it?"

"We can go and stay with _them_," said Julia.

"They'll think I bring them an angel." And Nick covered her white hand,
which was resting on the stile, with his own large one.

"As they regard you yourself as an angel they'll take it as natural of
you to associate with your kind."

"Oh _my_ kind!" he quite wailed, looking at the cows.

But his very extravagance perhaps saved it, and she turned away from him
as if starting homeward, while he began to retrace his steps with her.
Suddenly she said: "What did you mean that night in Paris?"

"That night----?"

"When you came to the hotel with me after we had all dined at that place
with Peter."

"What did I mean----?"

"About your caring so much for the fine arts. You seemed to want to
frighten me."

"Why should yo