Had she even loved Booth Wilmington?  Or had she just snatched at him?...

Wasn’t he, Direck, as good a man as Booth Wilmington anyhow?...

For some moments the old sting of jealousy rankled again.  He recalled the flaring rivalry that had ended in his defeat, the competition of gifts and treats....  A thing so open that all Carrierville knew of it, discussed it, took sides....  And over it all Mamie with her flashing smile had sailed like a processional goddess....

Why, they had made jokes about him in the newspapers!

One couldn’t imagine such a contest in Matching’s Easy.  Yet surely even in Matching’s Easy there are lovers.

Is it something in the air, something in the climate that makes things harder and clearer in America?...

Cissie—­why shouldn’t one call her Cissie in one’s private thoughts anyhow?—­would never be as hard and clear as Mamie.  She had English eyes—­merciful eyes....

That was the word—­merciful!

The English light, the English air, are merciful....

Merciful....

They tolerate old things and slow things and imperfect apprehensions. 
They aren’t always getting at you....

They don’t laugh at you....  At least—­they laugh differently....

Was England the tolerant country?  With its kind eyes and its wary sidelong look.  Toleration.  In which everything mellowed and nothing was destroyed.  A soft country.  A country with a passion for imperfection.  A padded country....

England—­all stuffed with soft feathers ... under one’s ear.  A pillow—­with soft, kind Corners ...  Beautiful rounded Corners....  Dear, dear Corners.  Cissie Corners.  Corners.  Could there be a better family?

Massachusetts—­but in heaven....

Harps playing two-steps, and kind angels wrapped in moonlight.

  Very softly I and you,
  One turn, two turn, three turn, too. 
  Off we go!....

CHAPTER THE THIRD

THE ENTERTAINMENT OF MR. DIRECK REACHES A CLIMAX

Section 1

Breakfast was in the open air, and a sunny, easy-going feast.  Then the small boys laid hands on Mr. Direck and showed him the pond and the boats, while Mr. Britling strolled about the lawn with Hugh, talking rather intently.  And when Mr. Direck returned from the boats in a state of greatly enhanced popularity he found Mr. Britling conversing over his garden railings to what was altogether a new type of Britisher in Mr. Direck’s experience.  It was a tall, lean, sun-bitten youngish man of forty perhaps, in brown tweeds, looking more like the Englishman of the American illustrations than anything Mr. Direck had met hitherto.  Indeed he came very near to a complete realisation of that ideal except that there was a sort of intensity about him, and that his clipped moustache had the restrained stiffness of a wiry-haired terrier.  This gentleman Mr. Direck learnt was Colonel Rendezvous.  He spoke in clear short sentences, they had an effect of being punched out, and he was refusing to come into the garden and talk.