“Sheer American business perspicacity, that,” said Salter, as he marched up and down, thinking of a particular case of this order.  “There’s something admirable in the practical way they make for what they want.  They want to amalgamate with English people, not for their own sake, but because their women like it, and so they offer the men thousands of acres full of things to kill.  They can get them by paying for them, and they know how to pay.”  He laughed a little, lifting his square shoulders.  “Balthamor’s six thousand acres of grouse moor and Elsty’s salmon fishing are rented by the Chicago man.  He doesn’t care twopence for them, and does not know a pheasant from a caper-cailzie, but his wife wants to know men who do.”

It must be confessed that Salter was of the English who were not pleased with the American Invasion.  In some of his views of the matter he was a little prehistoric and savage, but the modern side of his character was too intelligent to lack reason.  He was by no means entirely modern, however; a large part of his nature belonged to the age in which men had fought fiercely for what they wanted to get or keep, and when the amenities of commerce had not become powerful factors in existence.

“They’re not a bad lot,” he was thinking at this moment.  “They are rather fine in a way.  They are clever and powerful and interesting—­more so than they know themselves.  But it is all commerce.  They don’t come and fight with us and get possession of us by force.  They come and buy us.  They buy our land and our homes, and our landowners, for that matter—­when they don’t buy them, they send their women to marry them, confound it!”

He took half a dozen more strides and lifted his shoulders again.

“Beggarly lot as I am,” he said, “unlikely as it seems that I can marry at all, I’m hanged if I don’t marry an Englishwoman, if I give my life to a woman at all.”

But, in fact, he was of the opinion that he should never give his life to any woman, and this was because he was, at this period, also of the opinion that there was small prospect of its ever being worth the giving or taking.  It had been one of those lives which begin untowardly and are ruled by unfair circumstances.

He had a particularly well-cut and expressive mouth, and, as he went back to the ship’s side and leaned on his folded arms on the rail again, its curves concealed a good deal of strong feeling.

The wharf was busier than before.  In less than half an hour the ship was to sail.  The bustle and confusion had increased.  There were people hurrying about looking for friends, and there were people scribbling off excited farewell messages at the telegraph office.  The situation was working up to its climax.  An observing looker-on might catch glimpses of emotional scenes.  Many of the passengers were already on board, parties of them accompanied by their friends were making their way up the gangplank.