He talked rather irresponsibly, and looked at Hyacinth, his neighbour at dinner, with such obvious appreciation, that her gaiety became infectious. In the little panelled dining-room which, like all the house, was neither commonplace nor bizarre, but simple and distinguished, floated an atmosphere of delightful ease and intimacy. Sir Charles admired the red roses, which Anne declared she had bought for two-and-threepence. 'Very ingenious,' said Sir Charles. 'I _am_ ingenious and clever,' said Anne. 'I get my cleverness from my father, and my economy from my mother. My father's a clergyman, but his wife was a little country girl--a sort of Merry Peasant; like Schumann's piece, you know. Peasants are always merry.' 'I fancy that's a myth,' said Cecil. 'If not, I've been singularly unfortunate, for all the peasants _I_ ever ran across seemed most depressed.' 'Of course, if you ran over them!' said Hyacinth. 'But I didn't exactly run over them; I only asked them the way to somewhere. They _were_ angry! Now I come to think of it, though, they weren't peasants at all. It was only one man. He was a shepherd. I got to know him better afterwards, and he was rather a good chap. Shepherds don't have a bad time; they just wear ribbons and crooks and dance with shepherdesses, you know.' 'Oh, then _can_ you tell me why a red sky at night is a shepherd's delight?' asked Hyacinth. 'Is it because it's a sign of rain, and he needn't look after the sheep, but can go fast asleep like little Bo-peep--or was it little Boy Blue--if he likes?' 'For you, I'll try to find out; but I'm ashamed to say I know very little of natural history--or machinery, or lots of other interesting things. And, what's far worse, I don't even want to know any more. I like to think there are some mysteries left in life.' 'I quite agree with you that it would be rather horrid to know exactly how electricity works, and how trains go, and all that sort of thing. I like some things just to _happen_. I never broke my dolls to see what they were made of. I had them taken away the _moment_ any sawdust began to come out,' said Hyacinth. 'You were perfectly right, Miss Verney. You're an Idealist; at least, you don't like practical details. But still you take a great interest in other people psychologically. You want to know, I'm sure, just how a shepherd really feels, and why he feels it. I don't even care for that, and I'm not very keen on scenery, or places either, or even things. My Uncle Ted's so frightfully fond of Things. He's a collector, you know, and I don't sympathise a bit. In fact, I hate things.' 'You seem rather difficult to please, Mr Reeve. What do you like?' 'People; at least, some people. Don't you?' 'Do you like people who talk nonsense?'