“Oh, Mr. Cuthbert,” she whispered, “that place we came through⁠—that white place⁠—what was it?”

“Well now, you must mean the Avenue,” said Matthew after a few moments’ profound reflection. “It is a kind of pretty place.”

“Pretty? Oh, pretty doesn’t seem the right word to use. Nor beautiful, either. They don’t go far enough. Oh, it was wonderful⁠—wonderful. It’s the first thing I ever saw that couldn’t be improved upon by imagination. It just satisfied me here”⁠—she put one hand on her breast⁠—“it made a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache. Did you ever have an ache like that, Mr. Cuthbert?”

“Well now, I just can’t recollect that I ever had.”