rjected suddenly: "Madre"--and was silent.

"I shall not, I think"--it was the lady speaking--"be accused of licence
when I say that I have always felt that speculation is only dangerous
when indulged in by the crude intelligence. If culture has nothing to
give us, then let us have no culture; but if culture be, as I think it,
indispensable, then we must accept the dangers that culture brings."

Again the young people moved their faces, and again the younger of the
two young men said: "Madre--"

"Dangers? Have cultured people dangers?"

Who had spoken thus? Every eyebrow was going up, every mouth was
drooping, and there was silence. The boy stared at his companion. In
what a strange voice she had made that little interjection! There seemed
a sort of flame, too, lighted in her eyes. Then the little grey-bearded
man said, and his rather whispering voice sounded hard and acid:

"We are all human, my dear madam."

The boy felt his heart go thump at Anna's laugh. It was just as if she
had said: "Ah! but not you--surely!" And he got up to follow her towards
the door.

The English party had begun already talking--of the weather.

The two walked some way from the 'hut' in silence, before Anna said:

"You didn't like me when I laughed?"

"You hurt their feelings, I think."

"I wanted to--the English Grundys! Ah! don't be cross with me! They WERE
English Grundys, weren't they--every one?"

She looked into his face so hard, that he felt the blood rush to his
cheeks, and a dizzy sensation of being drawn forward.

"They have no blood, those people! Their voices, their supercilious eyes
that look you up and down! Oh! I've had so much of them! That woman
with her Liberalism, just as bad as any. I hate them all!"

He would have liked to hate them, too, since she did; but they had only
seemed to him amusing.

"They aren't human. They don't FEEL! Some day you'll know them. They
won't amuse you then!"

She went on, in a quiet, almost dreamy voice:

"Why do they come here? It's still young and warm and good out here.
Why don't they keep to their Culture, where no one knows what it is to
ache and feel hunger, and hearts don't beat. Feel!"

Disturbed beyond measure, the boy could not tell whether it was in her
heart or in his hand that the blood was pulsing so. Was he glad or sorry
when she let his hand go?

"Ah, well! They can't spoil this day. Let's rest."

At the edge of the larch-wood where the