y're simply ... mean. They're a dying race, thank heaven! They've
kept themselves to themselves so much that their blood is like water,
and so they're simply perishing. They wouldn't absorb or be absorbed ...
and so they're just dying out. Your lot were wiser than the Welsh,
Quinny!"

"The Irish?"

"Yes. They absorbed all the new blood they could get into their veins,
and so, whoever else may perish, the Irish won't. This nationality
business is all my eye, Quinny. You don't want one strain in a country.
You want hundreds of strains. You want to mingle the bloods. ... I don't
believe there's a pure-blooded Irishman in Ireland or out of it.... Oh,
the Welsh! Oh, the awful Welsh! Inbreeding in a nation is the very devil
... and it makes 'em so damned uncivil. Oh, a shifty, whining race, the
Welsh!..."

2

There are many bays on that coast, and in one of these, where they could
easily get to deep water, they bathed every morning, drying themselves
in the sun when they were tired of swimming. They would haul themselves
out of the sea by clutching at the long tassels of sea-weed, and then
lie down on the bare, warm rocks while the sun dried the salt into their
skins. Once, while they were lying in this fashion, Gilbert turned to
Henry and said, "Have you been to Boveyhayne at all since Ninian went
away?"

"No," Henry answered. "I was to have gone with you that Christmas, but
my father's illness prevented me, and I haven't been since."

"Why don't you go? They'd be glad to see you, and Ninian'd like it."

"I must go one of these days. How is Mrs. Graham? I suppose you've seen
her lately?"

"She was all right when I saw her. Mary's rather nice!"

Henry did not say anything, and Gilbert, having waited for a while, went
on.

"I always thought you and Mary...."

He broke off suddenly and sat up. "It's getting a bit chilly," he said.
"I think I'll dress!"

"There's no hurry, Gilbert," Henry answered. "You didn't finish what you
were saying."

"It's none of my business. I've no right to...."

"Oh, yes, you have, Gilbert," Henry interrupted, sitting up too. "Go
on!"

"Well, I always thought that you and Mary were ... well, liked each
other. That was why I was so puzzled when you got fond of Cecily. I felt
certain that you'd marry Mary. Why don't you, Quinny? She's an awfully
nice girl, and you and she are rather good pals, aren't you?"

"I don't know, Gilbert. I think I love Mary better than any one I've
eve