“It’s an American novel.” “I never read novels.” “You had really better look at that one. It will show you the kind of people you want me to know.” “I’ve no doubt it’s very vulgar,” Jackson said. “I don’t see why you read it.” “What else can I do? I can’t always be riding in the Park. I hate the Park,” she quite rang out. “It’s just as good as your own,” said her husband. She glanced at him with a certain quickness, her eyebrows slightly lifted. “Do you mean the park at Pasterns?” “No; I mean the park in London.” “Oh I don’t care about London. One was only in London a few weeks.” She had a horrible lovely ease. Yet he but wanted to help her to turn round. “I suppose you miss the country,” he suggested. It was his idea of life that he shouldn’t be afraid of anything, not be afraid, in any situation, of knowing the worst that was to be known about it; and the demon of a courage with which discretion was not properly commingled prompted him to take soundings that were perhaps not absolutely necessary for safety and yet that revealed unmistakable rocks. It was useless to know about rocks if he couldn’t avoid them; the only thing was to trust to the wind. “I don’t know what I miss. I think I miss everything!” This was his wife’s answer to his too-curious inquiry. It wasn’t peevish, for that wasn’t the tone of a calm goddess; but it expressed a good deal—a good deal more than Lady Barb, who was rarely eloquent, had expressed before. Nevertheless, though his question had been precipitate, Jackson said to himself that he might take his time to think over what her fewness of words enclosed; he couldn’t help seeing that the future would give him plenty of chance. He was in no hurry to ask himself whether poor Mrs. Freer, in Jermyn Street, mightn’t after all have been right in saying that when it came to marrying an English caste-product it wasn’t so simple to be an American doctor—it might avail little even in such a case to be the heir of all the ages. The transition was complicated, but in his bright mind it was rapid, from the brush of a momentary contact with such ideas to certain considerations which led him to go on after an instant: “Should you like to go down into Connecticut?” “Into Connecticut?” “That’s one of our States. It’s about as large as Ireland. I’ll take you there if you like.” “What does one do there?” “We can try and get some hunting.” “You and I alone?” “Perhaps we can get a party to join us.” “The people in the State?” “Yes—we might propose it to them.” “The tradespeople in the towns?” “Very true—they’ll have to mind their shops,” Jackson said. “But we might hunt alone.” “Are there any foxes?” “No, but there are a few old cows.”