“It's very hard, I know,” said the earl; “perhaps we are all on the wrong track.”
“Maybe. Mr. Henderson says that the world would get on better if everybody minded his own business.”
“I wish it were possible,” the earl remarked, with an air of finishing the topic. “I have just been up to Brandon, Mrs. Henderson. I fear that I have seen the dear place for the last time.”
“You don't mean that you are tired of America?”
“Not that. I shall never, even in thought, tire of Brandon.”
“Yes, they are dear, good people.”
“I thought Miss Forsythe—what a sweet, brave woman she is!—was looking sad and weary.”
“Oh, aunt won't do anything, or take an interest in anything. She just stays there. I've tried in vain to get her here. Do you know”—and she turned upon the earl a look of the old playfulness—“she doesn't quite approve of me.”
“Oh,” he replied, hesitating a little—“I think, Mrs. Henderson, that her heart is bound up in you. It isn't for me to say that you haven't a truer friend in the world.”
“Yes, I know. If I'd only—” and she stopped, with a petulant look on her fair face—“well, it doesn't matter. She is a dear soul.”