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"Curates," she said, "are such pent-up
men. One ought, I suppose, to remember that. But he never had
anything to go upon at all--not anything--except his own
imaginations."
"I suppose when you met him you were nice to him."
"I was nice to him, of course. . . ."
They drove away from Harting, as it were, over the weeping remains
of this infatuated divine. His sorrow made them thoughtful for a
time, and then Amanda nestled closer to her lover and they forgot
about him, and their honeymoon became so active and entertaining
that only very rarely and transitorily did they ever think of him
again.
The original conception of their honeymoon had been identical with
the plans Benham had made for the survey and study of the world, and
it was through a series of modifications, replacements and additions
that it became at last a prolonged and very picturesque tour in
Switzerland, the Austrian Tyrol, North Italy, and down the Adriatic
coast. Amanda had never seen mountains, and longed, she said, to
climb. This took them first to Switzerland.


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