"Oh, you know I need not have come unless I had wanted to. I didn't think it would be so—so hard," and there was a little quiver in her voice.
"And are you sorry? Do you want to go back?"
"No," she answered with a certain bravery. "I like you very much and you want to do the things that please those you care a great deal for. And I want to see the beautiful city and the wonderful places where things have happened. And I am going to be very happy, only I shall think of them all at home."
"That is right. And I am going to do all I can to make you happy. The journey will be tiresome—I have seldom had to take any delicate person into consideration and I didn't think——"
"Oh, I shall not get tired out," laughing with some of her olden spirit.
He had been upbraiding himself during the night for his covetous desire of having her a little longer. Yes, he would have been glad if she was in reality his ward, if she were some friendless, homeless child that he could take to his heart for all time. There were many of them who would be glad and thankful for the shelter. But he wanted this one.
The riding for awhile was a pleasant change, and they talked of themselves, of M. de Ronville's home, one of the early old houses where he had lived for years, alone with the servants. She had heard most of it before, but she liked to go over it again.
"I wonder why you didn't marry and have children of your own," and there was a cadence of regret in her tone that touched him.
"I supposed I would. But year after year passed by and then I grew settled in my ways, and satisfied. I was a great reader."
"Oh, I wonder if I shall disturb you?" and there is a charm in her accent that warms his heart. "You must have seen that we live so altogether, that word just expresses it, as if all our interests were just the same. And they are. And I shall be—strange. Is the housekeeper nice?"