"I wasn't vague at all. But you were in such a hurry to get away."
"It doesn't signify. I have another one at home."
"Another summer-house?" suggested Nick.
"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 is the one that comes every month."
"Every month—I see," said Nick, in a manner justifying considerably Mrs. Dallow's 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?" asked Mrs. Dallow.
"Dear no, thank God!" They remained there a little; he continued to look at the animals and before long he 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.
Nick appeared unable to satisfy her on this point; at any rate instead of answering her directly he 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," added Mrs. Dallow. She had never affected not to speak of her late husband, especially with Nick, whose kinsman in
