It was a command, and he inclined his head in respectful recognition.
"I am a student of nature, my lady," he said, in a low voice, "and I am fond of rambling in the woods here, especially at moonlight; it is not a singular fancy."
Her face did not flush, but her eyes gleamed; she saw the sneer in the words.
"Go on, sir," she said, coldly.
"Chance led me to-night in the direction of the river. I was standing admiring it when two individuals—the two individuals who have just left us—approached. Suspecting a love tryst, I was retreating, when the moon revealed to me that one of the individuals was a person in whom I take a great interest."
"Which?" she asked, coldly and calmly.
"The young lady," he replied, and his eyes drooped for a moment.
"That interest rather than curiosity,"—her lips curled, and she looked up at him with infinite scorn—"interest rather than curiosity prompted me to remain and, an unwilling listener, I heard the strange engagement—betrothal, call it what you will—that took place."
He paused. She drew the shawl round her head and eyed him askance.
"In what way does this concern me, sir?" she demanded, haughtily.