Alfred made no contradiction, for a simple reason: he had not listened to her last sentences; he was thinking how well she hit off the Bush, and how nicely she quoted poetry. He was silent for some minutes. Then he said earnestly:--
'I wish, my darling, that you would sometimes talk to my mother like that!'
Gladys returned from the antipodes in a flash. 'I shall never talk to any of your people any more about Australia!' And, by her tone, she meant it.
'Because they don't like it, Alfred; I see they don't, though I never see it so clearly as when it's all over and too late. Yet why should they hate it so? Why should it annoy them? I've nothing else to talk about, and I should have thought they'd like to hear of another country. I know _I_ liked to hear all about England from _you_, Alfred!'
Faint though it was, the reproach in her voice cut him to the heart. Yet his moment had come. He had decided, it is true, to say nothing at all; but then there had been no opening, and here was one such as might never come again.
'Gladdie,' he began, with great tenderness, 'don't be hurt, but I'm going to tell you what _may_ have something to do with it. You know, you are apt to get--I won't say excited--but perhaps a little _too_ enthusiastic, when you talk of the Bush. Quite right--and no wonder, _I_ say--but then, here in England, somehow, they very seldom seem to get enthusiastic. Then, again--I think--perhaps--you say things that are all right out there, but sound odd in our ridiculous ears. For we are an abominable, insular nation of humbugs----' began poor Alfred with a tremendous burst of indignation, fearing that he had said too much, and making a floundering effort to get out of what he _had_ said. But his wife cut him short.
The colour had mounted to her olive cheeks. Denseness, at all events, was not among her failings--when she kept calm.
She was sufficiently calm now. 'I see what you mean, and I shall certainly say no more about Australia. "I like a man that is well-bred!" Do you remember how Daft Larry used to wag his head and say that whenever he saw you? "You're not one of the low sort," he used to go on; and how we did laugh! But I've been thinking, Alfred, that he couldn't have said the same about me, if I'd been a man. And--and that's at the bottom of it all!' She smiled, but her smile was sad.