He did so, with a sigh of relief. He was more at his ease sitting than standing. For the first time in his life he was ashamed of his size. Angela's delicate limbs and hands made his, by contrast, appear elephantine. "Have you been long in England?" "Few months." "And what do you think of it?" Here was a question that was easy enough to answer. "I guess it's a cute little country, but it ain't big enough for a man to breathe in. There's no wind, no sunshine. And the people are as cold as the climate." Angela laughed. "So we are cold?" "Oysters. I came the hul way from Devonshire to London in a train with another guy--man. 'Good-morning,' says I. 'Good-morning,' says he--and that's all there was to it. It beats me, this frostiness--ain't natural." Angela winced at the speech. The mutilated Anglo-Saxon caused her almost physical pain, yet the voice was musical enough and deep as a bassoon. "All you Americans say the same thing." "But I ain't American. I was born in Cornwall. Went to Colorado in '82 and sailed round in a prairie schooner, with wild Injuns after our scalps. I reckon that was no picnic for my people. I was a little fellow then--not big enough to tell an Injun from a bear. We didn't find gold, but we found God's own country. Wal, I can't remember much about it--thank God, I can't remember much." She looked at him, amazed by the tenseness of his words. "What don't you wish to remember?" His brows contracted and the big hands closed till the knuckles almost penetrated the skin that covered them. "The Injuns got us in the end," he said huskily. "I jest remember the huge red sun going down on the prairie, with the wagon and two tents down by a stream, where the horses were watering. There was a kind o' grotto affair beyond the stream. Old Sam, the driver, came and yanked me into that. I was young, but I savvied what it meant.... It was hell arter that--shooting and screaming.... When I came out.... When I came out...." He said no more. His eyes were staring into nothingness as through his brain flashed the dreadful scene of youth. He remembered running and crying--running and crying into the wilderness until a party of emigrants rescued him from madness. Angela sat with parted lips. It was strange to be sitting there listening to such horrors. She was conscious of the giant personality behind his nervousness. The great voice commanded her attention. In those few moments she was afraid of him. "Let us go in," she said.