Somehow, up to this time, he had always thought that he would get well, and to-morrow he would probably think so again; but just for the moment he felt the real truth.
Presently she said (they spoke in French): "Why is it you like our old kitchen so much?
It isn't nearly as nice as the parlour." "Well, it's a place to live in, anyhow; and I fancy you all feel more at home there than anywhere else." "I feel just as much at home in the parlour as there," she retorted.
"Oh, no, I think not.

The room one lives in the most is the room for any one's money." She looked at him in a puzzled way.

Too many sensations were being born in her all at once; but she did recognise that he was not trying to subtract anything from the pomp of the Lavilettes.
He belonged to a world that she did not know--and yet he was so perfectly at home with her, so idly easygoing.
"Did you ever live in a castle ?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes," he said, with a dry little laugh.

Then, after a moment, with the half-abstracted manner of a man who is recalling a long-forgotten scene, he added: "I lived in the North Tower, looking out on Farcalladen Moor.