. There's nothing between the family pew and the divorce court.
One nice Englishwoman is a match for the whole Eleven Thousand Virgins
of Cologne."

"To hear you talk, one might fancy you were not English yourself. For a
man of the name of Field, you're uncommonly foreign. You _look_ rather
foreign, too, you know, by-the-bye. You haven't at all an English cast
of countenance," she considered.

"I've enjoyed the advantages of a foreign education. I was brought up
abroad," he explained.

"Where your features unconsciously assimilated themselves to a foreign
type? Where you learned a hundred thousand strange little foreign
things, no doubt? And imbibed a hundred thousand unprincipled little
foreign notions? And all the ingenuous little foreign prejudices and
misconceptions concerning England?" she questioned.

"Most of them," he assented.

"_Perfide Albion?_ English hypocrisy?" she pursued.

"Oh, yes, the English are consummate hypocrites. But there's only one
objection to their hypocrisy--it so rarely covers any wickedness. It's
such a disappointment to see a creature stalking toward you, laboriously
draped in sheep's clothing, and then to discover that it's only a sheep.
You, for instance, as I took the liberty of intimating a moment ago, in
spite of your perfectly respectable appearance, are a perfectly
respectable woman. If you weren't, wouldn't I be making furious love to
you, though!"

"As I am, I can see no reason why you shouldn't make furious love to me,
if it would amuse you. There's no harm in firing your pistol at a person
who's bullet-proof," she laughed.

"No; it's merely a wanton waste of powder and shot," said he. "However,
I shouldn't stick at that. The deuce of it is--You permit the
expression?"

"I'm devoted to the expression."

"The deuce of it is, you profess to be married."

"Do you mean to say that you, with your unprincipled foreign notions,
would be restrained by any such consideration as that?" she wondered.

"I shouldn't be for an instant--if I weren't in love with you."

"_Comment donc? Deja?_" she cried with a laugh.

"Oh, _deja_! Why not? Consider the weather--consider the scene. Is the
air soft, is it fragrant? Look at the sky--good heavens!--and the
clouds, and the shadows on the grass, and the sunshine between the
trees. The world is made of light to-day, of light and color, and
perfume and music. _Tutt 'intorno canta amor, amor, amor!_ What would
you have? One recognises