"Oh!" he retorted. "The trouble is not in me, then, but in your mood."
"I am not given to moods. I am semper idem."
"So is a post."
"Thank you!" Patty replied. "You are as complimentary as your uncle."
"Uncle Tom? Where did you see him?"
"At various places in Montfield all my life."
Hazard began to look at her curiously. He had at first noticed nothing strange in her manner, being too much occupied with his own disquietude, having left the house after aunt Pamela had confided to him his uncle's passion. He had been walking along the side of the brook, recalling the thousand signs of this love which he had seen, and yet accounted not at all; and he wondered, man-like, at his own obtuseness to what now seemed so clear. When he met Patty, he was absorbed in counterfeiting indifference; but something in her tone made him perceive at length that she was not her usual self. Perhaps the love in his own heart, whose fruition he had unquestioningly resigned at the words of aunt Pamela, made him clearer sighted. He longed to question her, to tell her of his uncle's love and of his own. His lip trembled with the impetuous words he could not speak, and his eyes were fixed upon her face with an intense gaze which was more than she could bear.
"Good-by," she said hastily, and went her way.
"Don't fail to be at rehearsal," she called, lest he should think her leave-taking abrupt.
But she would not look back, for her eyes were full of tears.