It is no place for a number of giddy young people, under no authority.
The woman made nothing of going down the path to the water's edge; and after some hesitation, I followed her. Thyrza did not seem inclined to do the same. She said she would wait till another time.
We did not like to keep kind Mr. Stockmoor too long, and soon we were driving homeward, full of new interest in this extraordinary corner of quiet old England.
The waggonette party had not returned when we reached Beckdale House. Too long a trip for Elfie, of course, but how could I help it? Needless struggles must be as far as possible avoided. I have to reserve all my authority for real emergencies.
Thyrza and I sat down in the garden, she with a book, I with my work. Presently I saw her to be deep in thought,—not reading or pretending to read. At first I fancied her to be thinking of Gurglepool,—then of the waterfall across the valley, already much attenuated by two fine days. But no,—something more serious gave the very intent look to her dark eyes. She sat perfectly still, as is her wont at such times, in an upright posture, half-rigid, half-careless, and quite unconscious. I love to study Thyrza's face, when she is trying to unravel some perplexity, or has gained a glimpse of some new idea.
"What is it all about?" I asked, after a while.
She turned to me, with an unwonted quickness of response.
"I am thinking—" she said. "Miss Con, don't you very often wish you could be sure of things?"
Though she gave no clue to the previous train of ideas, I understood enough to answer—"I am quite sure of some things."
"But you know what I mean? People think and explain so differently,—and I suppose it isn't always one's own people that must be in the right."