"I am sure you understand everything, and that differences of nationality are no barrier to you," Ralph went on.
Miss Stackpole gazed at him still. "Do you mean the foreign languages?"
"The languages are nothing. I mean the spirit—the genius."
"I am not sure that I understand you," said the correspondent of the Interviewer; "but I expect I shall before I leave."
"He is what is called a cosmopolitan," Isabel suggested.
"That means he's a little of everything and not much of any. I must say I think patriotism is like charity—it begins at home."
"Ah, but where does home begin, Miss Stackpole?" Ralph inquired.
"I don't know where it begins, but I know where it ends. It ended a long time before I got here."
"Don't you like it over here?" asked Mr. Touchett, with his mild, wise, aged, innocent voice.
"Well, sir, I haven't quite made up my mind what ground I shall take. I feel a good deal cramped. I felt it on the journey from Liverpool to London."
"Perhaps you were in a crowded carriage," Ralph suggested.
"Yes, but it was crowded with friends—a party of Americans whose acquaintance I had made upon the steamer; a most lovely group, from Little Rock, Arkansas. In spite of that I felt cramped—I felt something pressing upon me; I couldn't tell what it was. I felt at the very commencement as if I were not going to sympathise with the atmosphere. But I suppose I shall make my own atmosphere. Your surroundings seem very attractive."
"Ah, we too are a lovely group!" said Ralph. "Wait a little and you will see."
