“I may speak to you?” he asked.
Hilda, for her own part, found it almost impossible to speak; she wanted to throw herself on his breast and weep away all the gnawing loneliness, all the cruel doubts and bitter sense of guilt. The sight of him gave her such joy that everything was already half forgotten—even Katherine; even Katherine—she realized it and steeled herself to say with cold faintness—
“Oh, yes;” adding, “you startled me.”
“So thin, so pale, such woful eyes!” He stood staring at her.
“You—don’t look well either,” she said, still in the soft cold voice.
“I should be very sorry to look well.”
Peter was adapting himself to reality; but if the impetuous dream was abandoned, the courage of humbler methods was growing, and he could smile a little at her.
“Hilda, I have a great deal to tell you. Will you walk with me for a little while? It is a lovely day for walking. How beautiful the woods are looking.”
“Beautiful. I walk here a great deal.” She looked away from him and into the golden distance.
“And you will walk here now with me?” he asked, adding, as the pale hesitation of her face again turned to him, “Don’t be frightened, dear, I am not going to force any solution upon you; I am not going to try to make you think well of me in spite of your conscience.”