accepting a cigarette and surveying her narrow shoes. "Something's wrong; here's Nature, and here are we."
"I know!"
A different kind of man, Grover was desperately reflecting, would soon make right whatever was wrong—but what was wrong? Why should he feel shy again—now! Shyer than he had ever felt in all his shy life! He sat on the new grass at Sophie's feet, flung away the citified hat he had been carrying in his hand, and blew smoke in nervous gusts towards the silent trees.
"Insects make such foolish noises," he remarked.
How grotesque to be in the fields, the very fields he had been thirsting for only a few hours since, and, after all, not to feel at home in them! How grotesque to be in the country with the person you were in love with, the person who was having a positively chemical effect upon you, and not to feel romantic. "Has it ever struck you?" he asked in a tone of discovery, "that people who may know each other awfully well in a city sometimes almost have to begin at a new beginning with each other in the country?"
Sophie didn't reply, but after a few moments she got up and threw away her cigarette.
"I think you do feel a little Emersonian, after all. This air inspires you with Immortal Thoughts. Grover Thanet on Friendship! Let's go find the car. I can't bear New England—never could. Little Women, Little Men—Jesus!"
