“Nor do I. But riding?”

“I just adore it more than anything in the world.”

“More than dancing?”

“Surely. Riding and swimming.”

“Ah! I THOUGHT—” And he was silent.

“What did you think?”

“Well, I thought somehow you were a good swimmer.”

“Why?”

Jon said with embarrassment:

“By your eyes—”

“What! Are they fishy?”

Jon laughed.

“Not exactly. They’re like a water nymph’s.”

“I don’t just know if that’s a compliment.”

“Of course it is.”

“I thought nymphs weren’t respectable.”

“Oh! WATER nymphs—very! Shy, of course.”

“Do you have many in England?”

“No. As a matter of fact I’ve never seen one before.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Just a general sense of what’s fitting.”

“I suppose you had a classical education. Don’t you all have that in England?”

“Far from it.”

“And how do you like America, Mr. Forsyte?”

“Very much. I get homesick sometimes.”

“I’d love to travel.”

“You never have?”

She shook her head. “I just stay at home and look after things. But I reckon we’ll have to sell the old home—cotton doesn’t pay any more.”

“I grow peaches near Southern Pines, you know, up in North Carolina; that’s paying at present.”

“D’you live there alone?”

“No; with my mother.”

“Is she English?”

“Yes.”

“Have you a father?”

“He died four years ago.”

“Francis and I have been orphans ten years.”

“I wish you’d both come and stay with us some day; my mother would be awfully glad.”

“Is she like you?”

Jon laughed.

“No. She’s beautiful.”

The eyes regarded him gravely, the lips smiled faintly.

“I’d just love to come, but Francis and I can’t ever be away together.”

“But,” said Jon, “you’re both here.”

“We go back tomorrow; I wanted to see Camden.” The eyes resumed their steady consideration of Jon’s face. “Won’t you come back with us and see our home—it’s old? Francis would like to have you come.”