But Martin knew better. His horizons were expanding. He began, too, to conceive a curious love for a country so earnest, whose speech was the first that he had spoken. He had a vague impression that he was learning to live a corporate, instead of an individual life. When he tried to interpret these feelings to Corinna she cried out upon him: “To hear you talk one would think you hadn’t any English blood. Isn’t England good enough for you?” “It’s because I’m beginning to understand France that I’m beginning to understand England,” he replied in his grave way. “Like practising on the maid before you dare make love to the mistress.” “Very possibly,” said he, digging the blunt end of his fork into the coarse salt—they were at lunch. “To put it another way—if you learn Latin you learn the structure of all languages.” “What a regular schoolmaster’s simile,” she remarked, scornfully. He flushed. “I’m no longer a schoolmaster,” said he. “Since when?” “Since I came here.” “Do you mean to say you’re not going back to it?” He paused before replying to the sudden question which accident had occasioned. To himself he had put it many times of late, but hitherto had evaded a definite answer. Now, with a thrill, he looked at her. “Never,” said he. She laid down her knife and fork and stared at him. Was he, after all, taking this fool journey seriously? To her it had been a reckless adventure, a stolen trip into lotus-land, with the knowledge of an inevitable return to common earth eating into her heart. Even now she dreaded to ask how much of her twenty pounds had been spent. But she knew that the day of doom was approaching. She could not live without money. Neither could he. “What do you propose to do for a living?” “God knows,” said he. “I don’t. Anyhow, the squirrel has escaped from his cage, and he’s not going back to it.” “What’s he going to do? Sit on a tree and eat nuts? Oh, my dear Martin!” “There are worse fates,” he replied, answering her laughter with a smile. “At any rate, he has God’s free universe all around him.” “That’s all very well; but analogies are futile. You aren’t a squirrel and you can’t live on acorns and east wind. You must live on bread and beef. How are you going to get them?” “I’ll get them somehow,” said he. “I’m waiting for Fortinbras.”