The car shook off the dust of the business district, mounted a long hill, bowled into streets fairer than Canal. Hugo's sense of a grievance deepened. Granted that she had nearly fainted, as a consequence of her own foolish perversity, it was surely now due to him that she should begin to be her sweet natural self again. He had had quite enough of this irrational invasion of his afternoon; and so, having said just a word or two in reply to her last remark, he banished the matter from the conversation. "Now," said he, "to fresh woods and pastures new, and a song of the open road!... Which way shall we go?" Cally hesitated. "I'm sorry, Hugo--but I think I should like to go home, if you don't mind." "_Home?_" "I really don't feel quite like a drive now. I'm very sorry--" Canning gazed down at her in dismay. "I knew you didn't feel quite yourself yet. You couldn't deceive _me_ ... But don't let's go _home!_ Why, this air is the very thing you need, Carlisle. It will set you up in no time." But no, she seemed to think that was not what she needed, nor were her doubts removed by several further arguments from him. Canning sat back in the care with an Early Christian expression. She had said, not five minutes ago, that she felt perfectly well; perfectly well she looked. Was it imaginable that she really took seriously the absurd little smatterings of new-womanism she had picked up, God knew where, while waiting for love to come?... "Carlisle," he began, patiently, "I understand your feelings perfectly, of course, and natural enough they are to a girl brought up as you've been. At the same time, I'm not willing to leave you feeling disgusted with your father's methods of--" "Disgusted with papa!" exclaimed Cally, quite indignantly. But she added, in a much more tempered tone: "Why, Hugo--how could you think such a thing?... I assure you I'm disgusted with nobody on earth but myself." At that the annoyed young man gave a light laugh. "I'm evidently about fifty years before the war, as you say down here. I can't understand, to save me, how--" "I know it, Hugo. You never understand how I feel about things, and always assume that I'll feel the way you want me to." Carlisle spoke quietly, almost gently. Yet Canning's feeling was like that of a man who, in the dark, steps down from a piazza at a point where steps are not. The jolt drove some of the blood from his cheek. But his only reply was to poke his hired driver in the back with his stick and say, distantly: "Nine hundred and three Washington." The hired car rolled swiftly, in sun and wind, toward the House of Heth. Cobblestones were left behind; the large wheels skimmed the fair asphaltum. Three city blocks they went with no music of human speech....