"You thought I sympathized with Mrs. Verrier? So I do; though of course I am awfully sorry that such a dreadful thing happened. But you'll find, Mr. Barnes, that American girls----" The colour rushed into her small olive cheeks. "Well, we know all about the old ideas, and we know also too well that there's only one life, and we don't mean to have that one spoilt. The old notions of marriage--your English notions," cried the girl facing him--"make it tyranny! Why should people stay together when they see it's a mistake? We say everybody shall have their chance. And not one chance only, but more than one. People find out in marriage what they couldn't find out before, and so----" "You let them chuck it just when they're tired of it?" laughed Barnes. "And what about the----" "The children?" said Miss Floyd calmly. "Well, of course, that has to be very carefully considered. But how can it do children any good to live in an unhappy home?" "Had Mrs. Verrier any children?" "Yes, one little girl." "I suppose she meant to keep her?" "Why, of course." "And the father didn't care?" "Well, I believe he did," said Daphne unwillingly. "Yes, that was very sad. He was quite devoted to her." "And you think that's all right?" Barnes looked at his companion, smiling. "Well, of course, it was a pity," she said, with fresh impatience; "I admit it was a pity. But then, why did she ever marry him? That was the horrible mistake." "I suppose she thought she liked him." "Oh, it was he who was so desperately in love with her. He plagued her into doing it." "Poor devil!" said Barnes heartily. "All right, we're coming." The last words were addressed to General Hobson, waving to them from the kitchen-garden. They hurried on to join the curator, who took the party for a stroll round some of the fields over which George Washington, in his early married life, was accustomed to ride in summer and winter dawns, inspecting his negroes, his plantation, and his barns. The grass in these Southern fields was already high; there were shining fruit-trees, blossom-laden, in an orchard copse; and the white dogwood glittered in the woods.