They laughed.

“Maybe,” Ina ventured, “maybe Ninian will tell us something about his travels.  He is quite a traveller, you know,” she said to the Plows.  “A regular Gulliver.”

They laughed respectfully.

“How we should love it, Mr. Deacon,” Mrs. Plow said.  “You know we’ve never seen very much.”

Goaded on, Ninian launched upon his foreign countries as he had seen them:  Population, exports, imports, soil, irrigation, business.  For the populations Ninian had no respect.  Crops could not touch ours.  Soil mighty poor pickings.  And the business—­say!  Those fellows don’t know—­and, say, the hotels!  Don’t say foreign hotel to Ninian.

He regarded all the alien earth as barbarian, and he stoned it.  He was equipped for absolutely no intensive observation.  His contacts were negligible.  Mrs. Plow was more excited by the Deacons’ party than Ninian had been wrought upon by all his voyaging.

“Tell you,” said Dwight.  “When we ran away that time and went to the state fair, little did we think—­” He told about running away to the state fair.  “I thought,” he wound up, irrelevantly, “Ina and I might get over to the other side this year, but I guess not.  I guess not.”

The words give no conception of their effect, spoken thus.  For there in Warbleton these words are not commonplace.  In Warbleton, Europe is never so casually spoken.  “Take a trip abroad” is the phrase, or “Go to Europe” at the very least, and both with empressement.  Dwight had somewhere noted and deliberately picked up that “other side” effect, and his Ina knew this, and was proud.  Her covert glance about pensively covered her soft triumph.

Mrs. Bett, her arm still circling the child Monona, now made her first observation.

“Pity not to have went while the going was good,” she said, and said no more.

Nobody knew quite what she meant, and everybody hoped for the best.  But Ina frowned.  Mamma did these things occasionally when there was company, and she dared.  She never sauced Dwight in private.

And it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair—­

Abruptly Ninian rose and left the room.

* * * * *

The dishes were washed.  Lulu had washed them at break-neck speed—­she could not, or would not, have told why.  But no sooner were they finished and set away than Lulu had been attacked by an unconquerable inhibition.  And instead of going to the parlour, she sat down by the kitchen window.  She was in her chally gown, with her cameo pin and her string of coral.

Laughter from the parlour mingled with the laughter of Di and Jenny upstairs.  Lulu was now rather shy of Di.  A night or two before, coming home with “extra” cream, she had gone round to the side-door and had come full upon Di and Bobby, seated on the steps.  And Di was saying: 

“Well, if I marry you, you’ve simply got to be a great man.  I could never marry just anybody.  I’d smother.”