“And where are YOU going?” he said. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. ‘Do not be foolish. Here it is. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. ” Lucy said softly.
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