"What is the matter with you, Etelka?" said Akosh, at length. "You are out of spirits to-day."
"Am I?" replied Etelka, smiling, and with a slight stare. "I dare say you are like Mr. Catspaw, who in his annual fits of jaundice flatters himself that the whole world is yellow."
"Very true," rejoined Akosh; "I am a dreadful bore to-day."
"Of course you are. To be a bore is one of the privileges of a Hungarian nobleman. But do not put yourself under any restraint on my account!"—saying which the young lady turned away, and busied herself in smoothing the shrivelled leaves of a half-faded flower. Thus pursuing their walk, they reached a hill in the plantation, from the summit of which they looked down on the village, the river, and the boundless plain.
"They are coming!" said Etelka, turning her eyes in the direction of St. Vilmosh.
"I wish to God I were a hundred miles off!" sighed Akosh.
"Would not a lesser distance do? Shall we say the village, or the notary's house?"
"Don't mention it. It makes me weep to think of it. You know what has happened?"
"I should think so."
"Well, I have no hope."