They utilized their spare time by getting the old horse and buggy, and inspecting and discussing all the farms within five miles of them; an occupation which put a great strain upon their diverse temperaments. Thyrsis would be thinking of such matters as roads and fruit-trees and barns--and above all of prices; while Corydon would be concerned with--alas, Corydon never dared to formulate her vision, even to herself. She had vague memories of dilettante country-places with great open fire-places, and exposed beams, and a broad staircase, and a deep piazza, and above all, a view of the sunset. Whenever she came upon any vague suggestion of these luxuries, her heart would leap up--and would then be crushed by some reference to ten or fifteen thousand dollars. Corydon was a poor sort of person to take an inspection-trip. She would gaze about and say, “There might be a piazza here”; and then she would look across the fields and add, “There’d be a good view if it weren’t for those woods”--and wave the woods away with the gesture of a duchess. So, of course, the observant farmer would add a thousand dollars to the asking-price of his property. On the other hand, when Thyrsis with his remorseless thoroughness would insist on getting out and inspecting some dilapidated and forlorn-looking place--then what agonies would come! Corydon would pass through the rooms, suffering all the horrors which she might have suffered in years of occupancy of them. And there was no use pleading with her to be reserved in her attitude--she took houses in the same way that she took people, either loving them or hating them. So, from an afternoon’s driving-trip, she would come home in a state of exhaustion and despair; and Thyrsis would have to pledge himself upon oath not to think of this or that horrible place for a single instant again.