Oxford among the Reverends; all things
considered, I prefer the Capuchins. When you have dined with a lord
bishop, you want to become a socialist."

"Your Oxford friends are very nice people, Sarah."

"Excellent people, Elizabeth, quite superior people, and they are all
sure not only of going to heaven, but also of joining the very best
society the place affords."

"Best society!" said Ulfar, pettishly. "I am going to America. There,
I hope, I shall hear nothing about it."

"America is so truly admirable. Why was it put in such an out-of-the-way
place? You have to sail three thousand miles to get to it," pouted Sarah.

"All things worth having are put out of the way," replied Ulfar.

"Yes," sighed Sarah. "What an admirable story is that of the serpent
and the apple!"

"Come, Ulfar!" said Lady Redware, "do try to be agreeable. You used to
be so delightful! Was he not, Sarah?"

"Was he? I have forgotten, Elizabeth. Since that time a great deal of
water has run into the sea."

"If you want an ill-natured opinion about yourself, by all means go to
a woman for it." And Ulfar enunciated this dictum with a very scornful
shrug of his shoulders.

"Ulfar!"

"It is so, Elizabeth."

"Never mind him, dear!" said Sarah. "I do not. And I have noticed that
the men who give bad characters to women have usually much worse ones
themselves. I think Ulfar is quite ready for American society and its
liberal ideas." And Sarah drew her shawl into her throat, and looked
defiantly at Ulfar.

"The Americans are all socialists. I have read that, Ulfar. You know
what these liberal ideas come to,--always socialism."

"Do not be foolish, Elizabeth. Socialism never comes from liberality
of thought: it is always a bequest of tyranny."

"Ulfar, when are you going to be really nice and good again?"

"I do not know, Elizabeth."

"Ulfar is a standing exception to the rule that when things are at
their worst they must mend. Ulfar, lately, is always at his worst, and
he never mends."

There was really some excuse for Ulfar; he was suffering keenly, and
neither of the two women cared to recognize the fact. He had just
returned from Italy with his father's remains, and after their burial
he had permitted Elizabeth to carry him off with her to Redware. In
reality the neighbourhood of Aspatria drew him like a magnet. He had
been haunted by her last, resentful, amazed, miserable look. He
understood from it that Will had never told her of