"Yes. Quite well thank you, Andor," she replied softly.
"No one has seen you in the village this past week," he remarked.
"No," she said, "I am not very fond of gossip, and there was a deal too much of it in Marosfalva this past week to please me."
"You are right there, Elsa," he rejoined, "but there were others in the village, you know, those who did not gossip—but whose heart would have been gladdened by a sight of you."
"Yes, Andor," she murmured.
We may take it that the young man found these laconic answers distinctly encouraging, for presently he said abruptly:
"Perhaps, Elsa, it isn't right for me to begin talking to you . . . about certain matters . . ."
"What matters, Andor?" she asked ingenuously.
"Matters which have lain next to my heart, Elsa, for more years now than I would care to count."
"Perhaps it is a little too soon, Andor—yet—" she whispered under her breath.