The thought of her ancestry crossed him now and then, rousing in him now wonder, and now a strange sense of congruity and harmony.

Clearly she was the daughter of a primitive unexhausted race.

And yet what purity, what refinement, what delicate perception and self-restraint! Presently they fell on the subject of Oxford.
'Were you ever there ?' he asked her.
'Once,' she said.

'I went with my father one summer term.

I have only, a confused memory of it--of the quadrangles, and a long street, a great building with a dome, and such beautiful trees!' 'Did your father often go back ?' 'No; never toward the later part of his life'-- and her clear eyes clouded a little, 'nothing made him so sad as the thought of Oxford.' She paused, as though she had strayed on to a topic where expression was a little difficult.