"You must please to remember that our skies are not always as deep a blue as they are now. We have rain, and our leaves do fall, and get sodden: though I think Helstone is about as perfect a place as any in the world. Recollect how you rather scorned my description of it one evening in Harley Street: 'a village in a tale.'"
"Scorned, Margaret! That is rather a hard word."
"Perhaps it is. Only I know I should have liked to have talked to you of what I was very full at the time, and you--what must I call it then?--spoke disrespectfully of Helstone as a mere village in a tale."
"I will never do so again," said he, warmly. They turned the corner of the walk.

'Our skies are not always so deep a blue as now. We have rain, and our leaves do fall, and get sodden: though I think Helstone is about as perfect a place as any in the world. Recollect how you scorned my description of it in Harley Street: "a village in a tale."'
'Scorned, Margaret! That is rather a hard word.'
'Perhaps it is. Only I should have liked to have talked to you about Helstone, and you spoke disrespectfully of it as a mere village in a tale.'
'I will never do so again,' said he, warmly. They turned the corner.
