"A dull place to live in, isn't it ?" In those words he welcomed the visitor to his house.
Irritated by the accident which had forced him into the repellent presence of Benjulia, Ovid answered in a tone which matched the doctor on his own hard ground.
"It's your own fault if the place is dull.

Why haven't you planted trees, and laid out a garden ?" "I dare say I shall surprise you," Benjulia quietly rejoined; "but I have a habit of speaking my mind.

I don't object to a dull place; and I don't care about trees and gardens." "You don't seem to care about furniture either," said Ovid.
Now that he was out of pain for awhile, the doctor's innate insensibility to what other people might think of him, or might say to him, resumed its customary torpor in its own strangely unconscious way.
He seemed only to understand that Ovid's curiosity was in search of information about trifles.

Well, there would be less trouble in giving him his information, than in investigating his motives.

So Benjulia talked of his furniture.
"I dare say you're right," he said.