He went to his place at the other end of the table, and, to their mutual relief, the neat parlor-maid came in to wait upon them.
“What are you going to do to-day?” he asked.
She crumbled her toast nervously, just glancing at him. “I do not know,” she said. “Anything you like.”
“Will you have the ponies, and go for a drive?” he said. “The country round here is very beautiful, and it will not be very dusty; there was a shower this morning.”
“Yes, that will be very nice,” she said, trying to speak as if it did not matter what she did or where she went.
“I must get a map of the country,” he said, “and plan out some excursions.”
He went on talking, and she responded now and again—they were acting for the benefit of the parlor-maid. When the girl had left the room, they fell into a silence; but Trafford struggled against it. They could not go through the whole of their lives sitting mum-chance opposite each other.
“Esmeralda,” he said, “I want you to do, to go wherever you please. Whatever you do will seem right in my eyes. If this idea of the drive doesn’t suit you, you will say so, will you not?”
“Yes,” she said in a low voice; “I should like to go.”
“Would you like to have me with you?” he asked, paying great attention to his plate. “Don’t say ‘yes’ if you’d rather be alone.”